The Danger of Touch
by Ambrel
Summary: Men die because of touch. How else could you kill a man? The touch of a blade, the touch of magic, the touch of poison. Touch causes pain. The good slave – that is, the smart slave – learns very early on to find any way to avoid the touch of a master.
1. Rules

Note: All author's notes will occur at the top of the page. Please, if you have constructive criticism, have at me! If you like it, let me know. If I should continue, tell me. We can only improve when our faults are laid bare to us.

* * *

The Danger of Touch

By Ambrel

"Rules"

* * *

In my time as a slave, I learned many rules. I knew how to appear menacing when my master required a show of strength. I learned many methods of killing, both with and without tools. Though I was never permitted to indulge in excess, I also knew the exquisite taste that could be teased forth from the Tevinter vineyards, having tasted my master's meals and drink for poison on more than one occasion.

Beyond it all, however, there is one lesson that I learned that superseded all other knowledge.

The danger of touch.

Men die because of touch. How else could you kill a man? The touch of a blade, the touch of magic, the touch of poison. Touch causes pain. The good slave – that is, the smart slave – learns very early on to find any way to avoid the touch of a master. Myself included.

A few months as a free man do little to calm the fears of a lifetime of servitude.

I hate being touched.

That being said, it is a unique feeling, being able to do something about unwanted contact.

It didn't take long for Merrill to realize that I did not take kindly to her absent personal bubble. For such a naïve elf, she is fairly good at judging body language - when she doesn't think about it too much. A few dirty looks and deft avoidances of her constant need to pet people put her off after only a few minutes.

Dealing with Isabella's attentions proved to be a bit more difficult.

And unfortunately, this just so happened to be what was plaguing me today.

She leaned forward, settling her elbows on her knees in such a way that cause her cleavage to strain against her bodice. She sat in the same worn out chair that most of my 'guests' occupied when they decided to drop by to bother me. "Don't you get bored up here, all alone?" She asked. Her voice was low and throaty in a way that made my ears itch. She sounded like Hadriana.

"No."

"I overheard you talking to Varric the other day," she said. "And I got to thinking. What DO you do up here by yourself all day when Hawke is taking a breather?"

"Dance." I said immediately. "I thought you said you were listening."

"Don't be coy."

"You aren't interested in my personal habits and we both know it. What is it that you want?"

I could feel her eyes climb up my body. An appraisal. Like a new horse on auction, or perhaps a dog. I held back a grimace and soon enough her gaze dragged itself from my torso to my eyes. "I think you know exactly what I want, Fenris. Tell me, are you as rough in bed as you look?"

"Considering I have never actually slept in a bed, I wouldn't know."

Her eyes flickered over to the large, canopied affair that occupied the other end of the room. Like everything else, it was in disarray. It also held a thick, even coat of dust over its surfaces. There were a few daggers imbedded in one of the columns where the draperies had sagged free of their ties. "I see." She said, "But I don't understand why."

"Call it a mystery, then," I said, settling back in my chair.

"I'll call it something." Again with that look. I fought the urge to shudder. "So. Where do you sleep? The couch? The floor? You know when I say 'bed' it is only a suggestion."

I turned to stare at the fire. Of all the things in this room, that fire was the one element that didn't seem dead and aged in the aftermath of the events that had taken place here. I made certain to keep the hearth warm though I didn't quite know why. Everyone needs something to do, I suppose.

Isabella stayed for a while, but in the end, she made a frustrated noise and stumped noisily to her feet. I, on the other hand, reveled in the strange sensation that came from ignoring someone.

It is not something I've done much.

She walked around where I was sitting, close enough for her fingertips to graze my arm where my tattoos were thickest. I think, perhaps, it was a testament to my self control that I didn't break her arm, nor give any indication of my discomfiture. She seemed the sort to continue pecking at things if she sensed she found a weak point.

"You'll come 'round," she murmured. Then she was gone and I was alone with my stinging skin. Still, it was a step in the right direction, I reasoned, and cause enough for an internal pat on the back. With any luck, she'd leave off.

So busy was I, exploring my tiny triumph, that I hardly registered the sound of footsteps on the heavy carpet. Hawke was there before I'd had time to turn and see who it was. "What'd you do to Isabella?" she asked. She laughed. "She looked like a kicked cat. Did you break her heart, Fenris?"

"At the risk of shattering your euphemism, a heart can only be broken when linked with emotions." I replied with a shrug. I grabbed the poker from the floor and stirred the fire. It didn't need it, but for some reason I felt like doing something. "As I am sure she has neither the capacity nor the ability to attach emotion to a physical act, I'm certain she was just upset that I did not let her have her way."

Minutes stretched. The sound of the fire devouring the log was the only noise beyond that of the cicadas through the broken window. Several moments passed before I withdrew the poker, tapped the end against the hearthstones to remove the ash, and neatly set it aside.

Hawke was staring at me. "What?" I demanded.

"Nothing. That was just…" she trailed off as though thinking for the right term. After a moment, she rolled her left shoulder and gestured vaguely. "Unexpectedly profound."

Hawke leaned forward and dropped a bundle on the bench beside me. The cloth that held it together loosen with a few tugs and the smell of fresh bread filled the air. "Here. Mother had me brings this over. She said to tell you 'You're too skinny for your height and you need to put some meat on your bones.'" Hawke's brow creased with good humor as she pitched her voice an octave higher in what was a ridiculous parody of her mother's tone.

A smile tugged at my mouth but I banished it before it could spread. "Interesting. I wasn't aware your mother could cook."

"She can't." Hawke produced a belt knife and set about slicing one of the apples that I hadn't noticed hidden away behind the bread. Investigating further, I discovered two rounds of aged cheese and a jug of apple cider. "I made it."

"I see."

We ate in companionable silence for a few minutes. The bread was rich and chewy, the apples tart, and the cheese mellow. I swallowed a mouthful of cider then passed the bottle to Hawke. "Thank you for the meal. Fresh baked goods are a rarity to me."

"That's a pity. Do you know how to cook?"

"I've picked up basics over the past few years. However, my skills are limited to putting things in boiling water and hoping they don't make me sick."

She snorted. "Sounds like Carver. He never could do much past burning water. There was one time he gave me food poisoning when he tried making dinner for my birthday" Her expression was a smile. It seemed rueful. "He felt so bad that he did my chores for a month. Never thought I'd missing milking cows and feeding chickens."

"Carver?"

Her smile didn't fade but there was a minute tightening of her jaw and the skin around her eyes. "Ah, yes. I'm sorry, I forgot. Carver's my brother. He died." She had a clipped tone that enhanced her Ferelden dialect more than usual. "I'd assumed that Varric had already given you all my gory personal details."

"Oh. My condolences." The bench was warm, this close to the stoked fire and my hindquarters were starting to go numb from sitting in one position for too long. I didn't want to shift my weight and give the impression that I was discomfited. "I haven't talked much with the others."

She seemed to be waiting for something. What it was, I had no idea, so I kept my silence. After a while she sighed and stood. "Thank you, Fenris."

"Hm?"

"You don't pry. I appreciate that."

"We all have our pasts, Hawke. I keep my own counsel. There is no reason to expect anything different of you." I took the opportunity to stand as well. The rush of circulation through my lower body was welcome, if a bit painful. I resisted the urge to massage my hip. "That being said, however, I have no issue if you have need to speak of your burdens." As the words materialized, I wanted to cringe. The offer seemed to meet with no dislike from the woman, as strange as it sounded to my own ears.

"Perhaps."

Soon after, she excused herself. There was a lingering sense of awkwardness in her departure but nothing I was not able to dismiss within moments.

I surveyed the empty room. The fire burned warm in the hearth, though the effect did not lend life to the rest of the space. Instead, it seemed that the fire sucked all color from the furniture, leaching life from what were once deep red curtains, and fading the walls from off-white to a dusky, dirty grey.

I looked down at my hands. I was not wearing gloves and the markings etched to my skin were bright against the faded calluses of my palms. The brightness of the fire did little to draw the stark white tattoos.

Fitting.


	2. Tired

Note : I had this written, then upon managing to post my story up (finally), I decided that it was far, far too terse and lacking in character. I can't say I'm happy with the first chapter, but apparently I did something right.

Anyhow, enjoy this one. My dislike for my first chapter caused me to go back and revise this one, and I added about 1000 words. I'll endeavor to write chapters of at least 2500 words each from now on!

Tell me what you think.

* * *

The Danger of Touch

By Ambrel

"Tired"

* * *

The sun was setting.

Daylight seemed to linger here in the streets of Hightown, but that was probably the point. Everything was always so high up, dozens of feet above the dusty streets of the rest of Kirkwall. This late at night it made little difference as the sun was nearly gone behind the gentle roll of the coast. The streets were nearly empty and the hightown market, where I found myself this day, was beginning to slow. Merchants were busily securing their wares as the last of their potential customers trickled home.

I was tired.

My feet dragged against the rough stone that passed for pavers in this city. It was the only outward sign of my fatigue that I allowed to show. Through an utter act of will and perhaps some help from the Maker himself, I kept my back straight and shoulders unbowed. Of the people who were still out at this time, most passed me by, either too busy with their own concerns to notice me or studiously looking away from my markings.

_I bet that would come in handy for pickpocketing._

Varric's voice was unbidden in my head even as I eyed the fat purse of a high class tailor as he shambling towards me, his pudgy waist almost shoving his money pouch in my direction.

My hand twitched. Hawke needed money. I'd still not repaid her nearly what I owed, though she called any debt between us square and forgiven.

I'd be lying if I said I did not have a problem with that kind of resolution. While I had secured my freedom, it was only through her philanthropic nature that allowed me to keep it, so tenuous was my hold.

I glanced to either side, then up the stairs that led to the manor district. No guards were readily present. The square was sparse but there were still some people about. My hand moved before I'd even consciously thought of doing anything.

The sun slipped below the waves and it was suddenly dark. Even without power coursing through my wounds, the markings were as apparent as a lamplight on the sea.

I'd glow like the Maker's own beacon, damn it all. That'd cause problems for Aveline. She was one person who I didn't necessarily go out of my way to antagonize. I balled my fist and kept my hand firmly at my side, eyeing fat little human and his fat little purse as they trundled out of my path.

Ah, well. I'd have to give Varric's idea a try some other time. I continued to Denarius's mansion, ignoring the dull ache of new bruises and glad that the long day was finally done.

The door was open, as always. We'd been pretty rough on the edifice when Hawke helped me clear out the slavers. The heavy oak door was wrenched slightly to the side. It was difficult to close completely without the use of both hands and a goodly portion of upper body strength.

With a sigh, I pushed the door open and stepped through. It wasn't in me to wrestle with the thing today.

The lazy glow of the banked fire beckoned from the massive hollow room at the top of the stairs. Perhaps leaving the flames alive while I was gone was not the safest practice in the world, but I had the feeling that it probably would not break my heart if I accidentally burned the Magister's mansion down.

Before I climbed the stairs, I paused at the wreckage of an old table and salvaged a few planks of the aged wood, hefting it over my shoulder. Sometime, I imagined, I would have to actually get my hands on some firewood. For now, it gave me a feeling of satisfaction to systematically destroy Denarius's things. I suppose it may have been a smarter investment to try selling off some of the unbroken pieces but I could never bring myself to bother with it. The stipend that Hawke allowed each of us to keep from our expeditions kept food in my belly and wine in my cabinet for the few occasions that I felt the need to indulge. I needed little else.

In short order, I had the fire burning merrily again at the expense of one antique table.

Such a long, trying day. I'd acquired several new bruises and a newly healed gash across my brow. Hawke had a soft spot for her fellow Ferelden expatriates and we'd spent the better part of the day eyes-deep in a bloody mine. Not a great place to showcase my strengths or hers, in my opinion, but it wasn't my call. Too close quarters for me to bring my blade to bear. To close to defend against sucker punches and flying knives. Not to mention, I'm not used to moving as a team like this. I am used to watching my flanks and taking down all that is in sight. Having to account for and refrain from injuring allies was a new experience that I was not altogether certain I appreciated.

Damn near lost my eye tonight. Didn't particularly like having to thank Anders for his care, but I did prefer to have the ability to see. Wouldn't much be able to repay my debt without my eyes, I reasoned.

The fire was warm. Overly so.

Perfect.

I dragged one of the upholstered chairs close to the fire and sagged into it, pawing at the buckles that held my breastplate to my body. They were of a deceptively simple design that made it easy to remove if I was wearing it, but difficult as all the hells for someone to remove if they didn't know the trick.

It clattered to the floor, followed by my gauntlets. The sword rested against the mantle.

I considered my belt and vest. I almost didn't want to remove them, despite the sweat starting to collect on my skin. If I looked at the bruises I knew were there, it would give them permission to exist. They'd be that much harder to ignore.

Like the bruise spreading over my bicep. I could tell it spread under my jerkin. I sighed, glancing over at the one shelf on the wall that I had claimed as mine amidst all the other brick-a-brack. "Of course I'm out of elfroot potions. Of course."

No sense bothering with it now.

Exhaustion had begun to take me and I slouched comfortably in my chair. My feet were stretched out toward the flames and had become delightfully toasty. Amid the musty smell of the books that littered the room and the slightly acrid odor of the treated wood burning, there was another scent that relaxed me. It had become something of a companion to me over the past events of my life.

Wildflowers.

There was a veritable garden of wildflowers in the courtyard behind the manor. In the weeks since claiming the house, they'd overgrown carelessly through the knee high grass. The bobbing heads of yellow, violet, and blue made for a serene view during the day and at night, when the heat of the sun faded from memory, their scent hung heavy and fragrant in the air.

No matter how far I ran, how fast, or where, there were always wildflowers.

A waking doze claimed me, the kind where your unconscious mind takes control and leaves you sluggish and unresponsive. The kind that usually happens after a long bout of exhaustion or exertion.

It was languid, in a way. I don't relax often and when I do, it is usually because my body forces it upon me.

So that is how I imagine I was when she walked in. Slumped in a chair as though dead with my eyes half shut, half of the buttons on my vest undone, one hand wrapped around my belt buckle and the other hanging off to the side.

Well, it could have been worse. I hadn't started drooling yet.

"Fenris?"

I twitched, then startled awake. My eyes were barely open before I registered that I'd grabbed my sword and fallen into a fighting stance. Hawke was in the process of seating herself on the wooden bench opposite my chair. She held her hands up in supplication, a cloth bag clutched in one fist.

I hadn't heard her come in at all.

"Hawke." I acknowledged, settling the sword back against the hearth once my heartbeat slowed. "What brings you here?"

"I didn't see you at the Hanged Man tonight."

I made a non committal noise and eased myself back into the chair. "That would be because I was not there."

"You broke the tradition. We always go to the bar after work."

"Yes. You do."

She stared at me for a moment. I had no trouble holding her gaze. After a few long silent seconds, she rolled her eyes. "Fine. I'll stop being subtle. Are you alright?"

"I expect I will be after a good night's sleep." I replied pointedly.

A dark eyebrow rose in skepticism. "You're not going to get that in a chair. You look as though you barely made it that far before you just stopped working entirely."

I rolled my good shoulder in a half-shrug.

The fire crackled some more. Hawke had a sheen of sweat across her brow and she'd only been there for a moment or two. She edged away from the flames. "Why do you keep the fire so bleeding hot?"

"Helps with the pain." The words were out of my mouth before I realized it. My mouth twitched into a frown. "I'm sore, you see." _Good recovery, ass._

"I could call Anders over-" She halted at my expression.

"I'll be fine."

I turned my face to the fire and rested my chin on my palm, desperately fighting the lethargy that was trying to envelope me. She moved. I caught the motion out of the corner of my eye.

Good. Better that she left. I did not want to deal with pity or concern right now. Not after my little slip of the tongue. _Let people know your weaknesses and they will take advantage of them._

"There's blood in your hair."_ Bloody hells_, she was a foot away.

"Haven't had the chance for a bath yet." I replied automatically, turning to face her and letting my hand drop to my lap. "Is there a reason for the inspection?"

"I worry when my friends act strangely."

"Going home is hardly strange behavior." I said. "Pardon my honesty, but you've known me for all of a few weeks. Are you so quick to lower your defenses and call people friend?"

"I tend to consider someone who takes up arms against my enemies a friend." she said. Her eyes, shrewd as ever, were free of guile.

"A cat may kill a snake, but I doubt the mouse would consider it an ally," I retorted. My eyes felt gummy but I stubbornly refused to rub them. Instead, I focused my ire on her.

She rolled her eyes, reached for the cloth bundle, and withdrew a couple small vials with red liquid. "You look like shit, Fenris. Here. There's nothing wrong with needing some help now and then." The vials flew through the air and I caught them automatically. "Have you eaten yet?"

"I'll eat later." I said, standing to tuck the vials on my shelf. I covered a wince as my twisted ankle twinged. "My thanks for the supplies," I muttered under my breath, mentally calculating them into my total debt.

"If you wont' let me bully you into eating tonight, you should come by in the morning for breakfast. Bethany's turn to cook. I think Varric and Anders said they'd be there."

"I'll pass."

She tossed her head and turned on her heel. "Great. See you tomorrow."

I returned to my chair but it didn't seem so inviting now. It seemed Hawke had somehow managed to draw a draft into the room with her coming and going. The fire burned imperceptibly lower.

Bloody humans.

* * *

I didn't go to her home that morning. Instead, I took the opportunity to poke about the docks. Hawke normally left off for a few days following a job and that mine was a particularly rough run. The supplies she had brought me helped to soothe the battle injuries, but not my pride.

Just one more kindness I felt the need to repay.

In those few days of recuperation, I normally found myself walking next to the water. It was soothing. It wasn't hot like the flames I preferred, but the salt laden breeze did something to calm the sear of my markings. Perhaps it was just a trick of the mind, but most days, I'd happily accept anything that lessened the constant ache.

The water was choppy that day. Grey skies hovered close over an ocean that was at once both blue and black. A storm was in the air and the people on the shore knew it. The dock workers moved quickly with their heads down. Superstitious sailors made signs with their hands as they battened down the loose gear on the docks and their ships. Urchins were even seeking cover beneath awnings.

Though it was early morning, I was nearly alone on the dockside as the storm moved ever closer. Soon enough, I could see the first hazy signs of rain in the distance. Ocean-borne storms are always fast, outstripping even the fastest ships and swamping anyone unfortunate or foolhardy enough to be out on the water. It was quite a sight to watch the approaching onslaught from the shore, though in this particular city, it was a fairly common occurrence. Something about these storms stirred up the schools of fish that most of the poor wretches depended upon for their livelihoods.

Ah, fish. Perhaps the only drawback to the otherwise beautiful ocean.

I waited, as was my ritual. It had become something of a forlorn hope to receive word of Denarius's whereabouts from the disreputable roughs I'd paid off. I'd taken his home weeks ago. In another few weeks, I would be counting the time in months.

The storm drew closer as I watched. Someone behind me yelled something about how a knife ear should know better than to stand out in a storm.

I ignored it.

The sun had nearly vanished behind the clouds.

The clouds moved quickly. Like all natural wonders, it engulfed everything in its path without concern for the damage it might do. In the space of one breath, I was standing in the humid air, and the next I was surrounded by thick, angry raindrops.

The rain pounded my body as I turned and slowly walked towards the stairwell leading from the docks. It felt good. Not as good as fire, but it helped. Extremes help. Cold rain, hot flames. It was just a pity I'd not worked out how to get my hands on some ice. Ordinary ice. Of the non-magicked variety.

A familiar figure stood at the crest of the stairs. I noticed right before I had nearly run into her. At first I thought it might be Hawke, come to look for me as she was wont to do with all of us when the mood takes her, but I was mistaken. I neared the figure and once I was not so blinded by the rain I recognized the overly emphasized feminine stance of the smuggler.

Isabella.

Again.

Surely the Maker has better things to do than torment me.

I wish he'd go see to them.


	3. Games

Note: Here I am again! I rewrote and added another 1000 words to this chapter too! And if my muse decides to visit me again today, there may be another update this weekend.

Please tell me if I still have the grasp of Fenris's character. I am having fun with it but I am not sure I grasped his essence here. I hope it didn't devolve into too much broodiness and I think the pacing at the end could use some work.

* * *

The Danger of Touch

By Ambrel

"Games"

* * *

"Fancy meeting you here." Isabella managed to purr, regardless of the sheeting rain. It took an effort of will to keep my eyes above her neckline with the condition that her dress was in. White linen was slick against her darker skin and I noted that she was wearing nothing beneath it before I'd wrenched my attention away.

I may not like the woman personally, but it's not as though I have ice in my veins.

"Indeed. Good day." I tried to move aside but drew up short. She held a hand up to stop me, her fingertips hovering a few inches from my chest.

"You're so wet, Fenris."

I blinked. "Rain does that."

"Of course. The rain." She replied with emphasis.

Water was dripping into my eyes. While the wet down felt therapeutic to my marks, the sensation of just being soggy was not one I enjoy. "Please forgive me but I must take my leave from your scintillating conversation. I have an appointment to keep."

"And appointment? Look at you, soaked to the bone. That's no way to appear for a meeting with anyone! The Hanged Man is on your way back to Hightown. Would you like to stop by my room to…" she let her eyes sweep my body. Again. "…freshen up?"

"Pass." My curt answer resulted in a pout that was all too transparent.

"You can't resist forever, you know."

"It is easy when there is no temptation."

She didn't even have the decency to look phased. "I always get who I set out for." She pressed her hand lightly against my breastplate.

"I'm afraid you must resign yourself to disappointment." I plucked her hand from my chest.

I moved on, rubbing my fingertips vigorously against my thigh. I hate being touched. I hate it. The tingle of irritation across my scars for even the lightest brush is enough to send me spiraling into a sour mood. It's even worse when the immediate solution to the problem cannot include violence.

More importantly, I hate being forced to touch others. It reminds me of things that are better left unremembered, buried in the darkest corners of my mind with the rest of my old life.

* * *

That afternoon found me in Denarius's mansion, carefully drying the rainwater off of the metal plates and links of my armor with a scrap of cloth before setting it to dry before the fire.

The rain was still pounding the world away. It was a comfort to know that most people would not be out wandering the streets in this weather. With any luck I would be left to my own devices. I had come to find out that Hawke's little band was tight-knit and as much as I made my displeasure at being bothered known, they gleefully ignored my wish for solitude more often than not.

I was still soaked through after the two hour walk from the docks to here, but my armor and weapons had demanded attention before anything else. However, now that it was done, I found myself in the uneasy position of requiring a change of clothes to wear while my leathers dried. Normally this would not be a problem but my spare set of clothing had been what I'd had on under my armor the night before. Not only was it crusted with the blood of myself and the enemies I'd fought, but it was also torn in so many places that it was better off used to dress a scarecrow than a man.

I let my eyes rove over the ruined room. There were clothes hidden in the drawers, but I couldn't bring myself to wear anything that had touched the Magister's skin.

He had servants, though. Slaves too. I left the warm room and went wandering through the empty halls.

I rarely moved through the house. I required only one room to live and that rendered the rest of the mansion moot to me. Once I got rid of the bodies, with the help of Hawke and her friends, I was content to let the house fall to pieces around me.

Seemed like a nice allegory for my life to this point.

The mansion was certainly falling into disrepair. The trappings that once covered the walls sagged against walls whose plaster was beginning to peel from lack of care. Spiderwebs populated the rafters and corners and if I was of a more superstitious mind, I'd probably have imagined ghosts in the shadows of the darker rooms.

It didn't take me long to locate the set of rooms that would have housed the soldiers and slaves. The walls were stained here and there with rust colored splotches. A faint fetid odor emitted from some of the spots as the blood had begun to decompose in the onset of summer. Furniture lay splintered where it had been knocked aside by the battle only weeks ago.

Heaving an upturned cot out of my way, I rifled around a broken footlocker until I found a set of clothes that would more or less fit. White linen servant's shirt with sleeves that bloused annoyingly from shoulder to cuff and a pair of… jodhpurs?

Did they even have horses in this city?

Perhaps the art of dueling was more popular than I first imagined?

As odd as the choice of clothing might be, it served a purpose. I shrugged out of my sodden leathers and yanked the servant clothing on. The jodhpurs felt odd, loose from hip to knee and drawn snug around my calves. The shirt sleeves threatened to get in my way. Grabbing up the leathers, I didn't take my time returning to the solace of the blaze. Rest, however, continued to elude me thanks to the potions that Hawke had brought. My body was fully recovered, as was my stamina, so there was no escape into sleep for me.

I paced.

The problem with isolation is that there is nothing to remove the mind from itself. Given the chance, I worry at a problem, turn it over and over until the rough edges become smooth and worn, looking at it every which way to find a solution. Or a stopgap, at the very least. Something to give me the reassurance that I was in some way control of the events surrounding me. I'd never had a taste of that sort of freedom before and I'm afraid that I was developing a tendency to try to control my situation to the smallest degree.

Denarius was still out there. The absence of my scouts meant nothing. It was entirely possible that they simply absconded with my coin instead of doing the scouting I paid them for. Kicking a stray cushion out of my path, I slanted a glance at the ornate box on the mantle that held my personal funds. It was strange to think that I owned money. In the time since my escape, coin only ever remained in my hands briefly, and only in the small amounts that I was able to steal from others. What currency I could get was usually spent immediately on immediate needs, be it lodging, food, and bribes. In Hawke's company, I was struck with the unexpected experience of receiving wages for my trouble, despite her own concerns regarding the expedition.

I had several gold coins, a smattering of silver, and a handful of copper. And beyond what I had already spent on my unsuccessful recon, I had absolutely no idea what to do with it. Perhaps in time I would have amassed enough profit to return to Hawke and settle my debt in my eyes. It might even be worth it to hand over the last few sovereigns she needed to fund the dwarf's project.

I'd never had the opportunity to be magnanimous before, either. How would it feel, I wonder?

"Andraste's tit. Is that you dressed all fancy, Broody Elf?"

Varric was leaning against the door frame. He didn't seem to notice my scowl. He pushed himself up and stalked around me in a wide circle, skirting an overturned table and a broken vase. All the while there was a delighted toothy grin on his face. "I like it. You took me up on my advice about dressing normal, eh? Though that sort of breeches are normally worn with boots, you know."

"Your lack of self preservation is astounding."

"Ain't it, though?" He hopped up on one of the benches at the fire. "We missed you today. Bethany made pancakes. Ever had pancakes?"

I didn't dignify that question with an answer. Part of the reason was because I had never partaken of 'pancakes' but the dwarf didn't need to know that. He talked too much.

When I didn't answer, Varric pulled out a deck of cards and began to shuffle them. They flew back and forth between his hands in a blur. It caught my eye and I caught myself staring.

He followed my gaze. A crooked smile split his face. "You wanna play Diamondback?"

"I do not know how."

"It's easy. I'll teach you. We can always use another player down at the Hanged Man."

I wavered. On one hand, I enjoyed tests of skill. In the few times in my life I had been able to pit myself against an opponent in an area of my own choosing, I found that I had quite the competitive streak. On the other, games of chance were things that rarely ended well. My presence in Kirkwall was a primary example of that. I'd watched more than one of Denarius's sycophants lose their fortunes in gambling, whether it was in the realm of politics or otherwise. There was always one thing in common with the louts who brought themselves low: they overestimated their talents. "Isn't Diamondback the reason why Hawke's uncle went destitute?"

"Well, yes, but that's only because he's an idiot."

"How blunt."

"Yup! Now sit down, Broody. I'll tell you a story while we play. Once you get the basics, at least."

"I suppose there's no harm in learning."

In short order, I had uprighted a small table and dragged it to the hearth. He didn't take long to fill me in on the basics and soon enough, we were playing a few friendly games, using stones as bets instead of coin.

He sat back, eyeing me over his hand. I was busy mulling over my next move. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his expression change as though he'd come to a decision. "You know, I wasn't too sure about you before, Broody. But now I think I'm glad you're tagging along."

"What makes you say that?" I asked, setting down a card.

"It's just a feeling. I like a good, balanced story, and your craziness helps smooth out the weirdness of some of the others."

"Oh, do tell." I scoffed, rolling my eyes. "So far, you are one of only two people who have not made me contemplate murder after only a few moments in your company."

"Isabella, huh?"

I grunted. He threw down a card and grinned. "Who's the other one?"

"The guardswoman. She has honor not found among most of Hawke's band."

"I'll be sure to tell the princeling you think so, it'll hurt his feelings that he's not in your graces. By the way, speaking of Aveline. Have you heard about how she and Hawke made it here?"

I shook my head and set my cards down, open faced. Varric nodded and grinned again, shoving the pile of stones over to my side of the table.

"You win this one." He said. I shuffled the deck and began to deal the cards and he talk. "Aveline and Hawke met up on the road to here. From what I hear, she had to cut her way through a mighty swathe of darkspawn just to make it this far…"

The dwarf certainly had a way with words. His stories would rival any that I'd heard even from the bards in Orlais. I found myself pulled into his narrative despite myself. This must have been what Hawke meant about the 'gory details' of her existence.

"And the ogre! It raised its arms above its head and roared so loud that it damn near shattered the stones that lay around it. Hawke tried to react but she was too slow. That's when Carver went running headlong into it. Some might say the move was daft, but the boy did what he could to save his family."

I frowned. "Wait. Carver?"

"Aye. Hawke's little brother, not yet a month past his eighteenth year. Hawke tells me that he was almost as good as the bleeding templars with a sword. She used to spar with the lad back when they still lived in Lothering."

"Lothering. Where is that?"

The game continued. I upped my ante after some careful consideration and Varric followed suit with an approving nod. "It's inland. One of the first towns to fall in the Blight. Hawke lived there with her family until things went sour. I hear Hawke's actually pretty good with a plough.

'Anyway, the boy went charging up to this massive ogre. It was a noble, if terribly stupid, thing to do. There's a reason the only people who fight the darkspawn seriously are the Wardens. Carver didn't stand a chance. It just grabbed him up," Varric raised his right hand and made a fist, moving his arm through the air dramatically, "And crushed the life out of him, just like that. Can't imagine it was a good way to go."

"And yet you make light of it. Does Hawke know how you tell this particular tale?"

"Probably." He said, flipping a card to the table. "I try to let everyone know this in any case. She seems pretty unflappable, but there are some topics that just seem to set her off. You should have seen it when Anders asked after Hawke's family. Protective one, that girl."

"She values privacy. I see nothing wrong with that." I replied. My hand this round was less than ideal. I glanced up to see Varric regarding me closely.

"You're a strange one, alright. A wild card."

"Really."

Varric nodded. I blew a puff of air upward, causing my bangs to flutter. I chose a card and cast it down.

"You have a pretty shitty poker face, too," he observed. He tossed his hand on the table and cocked his head to take in my reaction. "You give yourself away too easy. Not as easy as Anders, if that makes you feel better."

I pushed the pile of stones over to his side of the table. "Anytime I am compared to a mage, even favorably, tends to be an unpleasant experience."

"Yeah, well, we all have our points." He said. "A word of warning, though, speaking of Hawke. From what I've been able to glean from her, she wants honesty in all things. So if you tell her something, make sure you mean it."

"What? That makes no sense, dwarf."

"Yeah, you're right. It doesn't. But I have a hunch you're gonna need that tip sometime or another."

"I've no problem speaking my opinions."

Varric smiled. "I know. And I just want you to remember to keep doing that. It's balance, my boy, and as much as you might hate me for saying it, having you around balances out having Anders here too." He tapped one hand on the mess of cards on the table. "Poor boy can't seem to find his tongue when Hawke's around. A little stoic confidence is just what our little party needs."

"Indeed," I murmured.

"The best thing about playing cards with someone is that you manage to learn a lot. This conversation we had here was enlightening, but the card game told me a whole helluva lot more about you than what I'd be able to get with a week of snooping." Varric stood and collected his cards. I stood as well. "I played cards with Hawke the when I signed on with her, too. Now, that was an interesting game."

I elected to remain silent. Varric picked up his crossbow – what did he call it? Bianca? And made to leave.

Just before he disappeared through the door, he turned. "Thanks for the game, Broody. We usually get together to play Diamondback at the Hanged Man. You should join us tonight. It'd do you good."

He was nearly to the front door when I called out to him from the top of the stairs in the receiving hall. "What did you find out from me that was so important, dwarf?"

The only reply was a chuckle and the sound of the front door slamming against the jamb before creaking back open with a metallic whine.


	4. Reasons

Note: Alrighty, people, here's another update. I'm working on the pacing and I think I may have dipped a little out of character here, but not much. I know it's going a little slow, but I've more of less decided that this fic will be dwelling more on the 'unseen scenes' behind the game rather than rehashing scenes we have all experienced and know by heart. From here on in, it might turn into more of a vignette form, but I'm not going to let it feel too disconnected.

Also, forgive me, I am far too impatient and never sent it to my beta reader for a lookthrough. Otherwise the update would not come until around Wednesday due to my work schedule. Oh yeah, tell my your likes and dislikes. The more concrit, the better! Thank you to those who have commented and given me material to think on. I hope that I improve through the telling of this story. (Which, by the way, I have no idea where its going.)

Oorah, lets get on with this!

* * *

The Danger of Touch

By Ambrel

"Reasons"

* * *

Out of my league.

My cards peered at me from my hands, mocking me. Across the table, Varric, Isabela, and the apostate waited for my play with varying degrees of patience. Outside, the rain continued to squall through the streets.

I sighed. Put my hand face up on the table. "Fold."

Anders leaned back in his chair. "As it should be."

"Quiet, you," Isabela retorted, throwing a card to the table. "At least Fenris knows when he's outgunned."

"You haven't beat me yet tonight!"

"And this is only our second game, Blondie," Varric said. "Rivaini's not even drunk yet."

The mage plucked a card from his hand, tossing it down. "Most people don't get better the more out of control they become."

"Oh, I could show you lots of things I'm good at while I'm drinking," she retorted, giving him the same long appraisal I'd seen her give me.

It was about that time that the door swung open to admit Hawke and the other mage. Merrill looked about the room with the same bewildered expression that I had come to associate with simpletons and fools over the past few years. Sometimes it was hard to reconcile this naïve creature with the demon that she had the possibility to become. Her eyes lit on our small group and she damn near skipped to the table. "Oooh, what are you doing? Playing cards?"

"Obviously," I muttered into my ale. The girl had no sense of personal space.

"Can I play? I want to learn. Varric, you told me you'd show me but you never did!"

"I did try to teach you," Varric said. "You just spent more time looking at the pictures on the cards rather than paying attention."

Merrill plopped herself next to me on the wooden bench. "Lets try again! It'll be fun."

"Merrill…" Varric began, but before he could finish, I stood.

"I'm going." I said, gathering my scavenged cloak. "I have things to…attend to."

"Fenris! I just noticed you're not wearing armor! Isn't that a little strange for you? I never see you without it. And you look so dashing, like a knight in one of Varric's stories-" Merrill burbled in what I could only imagine was her normal manner.

Varric flashed me an inscrutable glance before he leaned across the table and patted her hand. "Calm down, Daisy. Leathers aren't very comfortable in the rain."

Anders snickered as I left the table. "Feel free to come back anytime, elf. I enjoy thrashing you."

"Come off it, Anders," the pirate laughed, "The only thrashing done at this table is by me."

Only a few moments later, my tab was paid down at the bar and I was securing my cloak around my shoulders. Glancing out the window, it was apparent that the weather was not going to abate any time soon. I grimaced. That meant that there was a goodly chance that the street outside was a morass of mud, water, and whatever other fluids were present in a place like this after dark.

"You're going out in that?"

Turning at the sound of Hawke's voice, it took a few moments to locate her. The tap room was not terribly crowded but there were enough people to make it reasonably lively. She was sitting at the bar, nursing a beer while watching the others deal out another hand. A burst of laughter from Varric pierced the general hum of the room and shortly after, Ander's face flamed.

Hawke lifted her cup to her lips and held it there, glancing at me from the corner of her eye.

Lightning flashed outside, followed shortly after by a roll of thunder. The shutters trembled for a moment. "It's not pretty out there."

"You walked through it to get here," I pointed out.

"True enough."

I waited for a moment, but when nothing else was forthcoming, I turned back to the door.

"Wait a second, Fenris," she said. "Come here, if you don't mind. Have a seat."

An irritated sigh escaped before I could stifle it. "Yes? What do you need?" I asked, turning around yet again.

She kicked a barstool out from under the bar. It skittered over the broken floor and almost tumbled to its side before I managed to grab and steady it. "Just sit already. I want to talk to you."

I admit, the natural confidence that Hawke possessed almost made me sit down automatically. She may not know it, or care to know, for that matter, but she carried herself with the same careless self assurance that the Tevinter mages have. She wore her confidence like a cape and the part of me that was still tied to the past nearly rolled over. But I resisted, somehow. "Am I at your beck and call, now?"

To her credit, she had the decency to look taken aback. "What? No. No! Maker, Fenris, I just want to know you."

"Why?"

"Well, tattooed men with tortured pasts are quite enticing." At my frown, she put her mug down. "Okay, so pointless flattery doesn't work. Failing that, perhaps it is just because you've been with us for weeks already and the knowledge I have of you could fit into a thimble."

"I thought you did not pry, Hawke," I said.

"I never said you had to spill your life out to me. I'll settle for the basics."

Still I wavered. The servant in me wanted to do as she said, but there was the draw of disregarding a command that was still new to me. It was perverse, this delight I took in refusing to do what others wanted. "Another time."

I slipped out the door, trying not to grin at the look of surprise on Hawke's face.

* * *

Hawke showed up a few hours later as I was in the middle of oiling my leathers. Rain always made caring for gear more troublesome. It was comfortable where I sat next to the fire, the flames bathing my face with heat.

I heard her before she entered the room. The only reason a thrill of alarm didn't strike through me was that I'd memorized the gait of most of the group. Hawke's method of walking was firm and strong, planting each foot solid on the ground. Though at the same time there was a measured tempo as though she consciously thought about her physical presence as she moved about. That sort of thing echoed on the stairs outside my room long before she ever made it to me.

"Hawke." I acknowledged. Didn't turn from my task.

"Fenris."

She didn't move again for several minutes. As the time passed, the last of the leather received oil and was set aside. Pressing my hands to my thighs, I stretched my back and was rewarded with a series of satisfying pops. Only then did I look over my shoulder to see the woman behind me, blinking rapidly into the darkness after so much time facing the light. "Yes?"

"I need you."

Both of my eyebrows shot upward. "How very…forthright of you." I felt a familiar feeling in the pit of my stomach. Like dread, but colder. Unpleasant.

Her features betrayed confusion, then a dawning understanding. "I mean I want you. Your help, that is."

My joints popped when I stood. "You're muddying up your meaning quite nicely. I'll refrain from jumping to the obvious conclusions if you'd like to speak plainly."

She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, dropping into the chair I'd neglected to move back from the fire. "The expedition is coming up. I'm running out of time to buy into it and I don't have the money yet."

My bowels unclenched and the icy tendrils of anxiety slowly trickled away. "I have coin, if you require it." The box holding my funds was within reach and I was rifling through it before she could react.

When I looked back at her, she was staring down at the floor, her face tinted red. "No," she murmured. "I don't want to take what's yours. There's another option but I didn't want to go alone. And I don't want Varric to know."

"And that is?"

"Here." She held out a piece of paper with small, scribbly writing in the center. I didn't move to take it.

"Hawke. I owe you, and so I am willing to assist you in whatever capacity I may. However, I've had my fill of back-room dealings and people who do not speak what they want. If you wish my assistance, I'm afraid you will have to ask with your own words, not hastily written notes." Sweat began to rise on my forehead. Would my gambit work? How ridiculous was the feeling of shame that pervaded me. _Keep your vulnerabilities close. Give nothing of yourself that could be turned back upon you._

"Oh. Yes. Sorry. I'm not proud of this." The paper crackled as it was shoved into her belt pouch. "I got a note before Merrill and I went to the Hanged Man. There's a dwarf who's interested in helping the 'investment'. He's going to be in Lowtown tonight after the guard change. That's in less than an hour."

"You think it's a trap."

"Isn't everything?"

"Fair point." I reached down and started to pull the annoying bloused shirt over my head. It tumbled to the floor as I took up my vest and breastplate.

Hawke whirled around. "Um." She started, but that was the extent of it. I paused for a moment, then continued to dress. She shifted from foot to foot.

"I thought you said time was of the essence." I said, pulling my belt through my trousers.

"Most people don't just disrobe in front of someone without warning." She replied in dry tones.

The rest of my buckles snapped into place. "Perhaps my sense of propriety is not so developed as yours. Shall we?"

I followed her out. And just my luck. The rain was still pouring.

* * *

I won't linger on the boring details. The whole ordeal was not a trap, but neither did it have the feel of something that was necessarily a good idea. Luckily the weather had begun to abate by the time we'd left the poor district. Hawke walked with a somewhat lighter step after striking a deal with the dwarf, but I still had my reservations. Didn't want to broach the subject, though. Never like to pry.

We walked side by side, trying to remain under the awnings when possible. Gamlen's house was along my route back to Hightown so I saw her to her door.

"Sister? Who is that?" the little sister peeked over Hawke's shoulder. "Oh, it's your Lyrium elf, is it?"

"Bethany!" Hawke groaned. She pinched the bridge of her nose. "How many times must I tell you, no one is 'mine'."

"Oh, pish posh. You're the only reason these people stick around. Isn't that right?" the girl was directing that last question to me. "I wish I could be like her, don't you?"

"Uh-"

"Bethany, who's there?" came the another female voice. Her mother, I'd imagine.

Bethany swung the door open all the way. "Mum, she finally brought one of her friends home!"

"Oh, did she?" A feeling rose within me that could only be described as fight-or-flight. Her mother –what was her name again? Lea? Lieana?-appeared behind the two women. "Oh! Please do come in!"

I glanced at Hawke. Wasn't it a bit late for visitors? Why was everyone up, for that matter? I was under the impression that most people were well abed by the time the city was this dark. She caught my look and turned to angle herself between her family and me. "Fenris was just helping me finish up a job. He was just heading the same direction as me. I'm sure he's more than ready to get on his way back to-"

"Nonsense!" Bethany interrupted. "I have so many questions for him about Tevinter. Would you please come in for a visit?"

"I-uh…" my feet moved on their own, edging backwards toward the stoop. "I must go. It is late."

Bethany pouted, her dark hair tumbling over her face. Once more the feeling of distaste reared. Images of Hadriana tumbled through my mind. The pout. I backpedaled suddenly. Hawke turned to stare at me over her shoulder, then she hissed at Bethany. "Come now, begging a man to come in so late is unseemly."

"Oh. Ah, yes. Sorry, Fenris." She sighed. "Perhaps some other time you'll come by for a chat?"

I swallowed, then managed a tight, jerky nod. "If time permits."

Hawke inclined her head in farewell before herding her overly awake family members back into the house, leaving me standing alone in the dark.

No time was wasted in heading for my stolen home.

* * *

The next morning, I awoke to the sound of footsteps echoing through the front of the manor. Shortly after, Hawke poked her head inside. I was in the middle of shrugging into my jerkin. "Fenris. Sorry about last night."

Busying myself with poking the fire allowed me to conceal my discomfort. She let herself in again, sitting in what was becoming her customary spot in front of the fire. Yet again she brought a bundle. It thumped to the floor beside her. "Do you have nothing better than to bring food over?" I asked.

"Peace offering."

"Ah." The chair was comfortingly warm when I eased into it. "You've spoken with Bartrand, then?"

"Yes. We leave in a week."

"We?"

"I'd hoped you'd be willing to come. I can only take a few people. I prefer to take those who I can trust for silence."

"Who else is coming?"

She popped the cork of one of the cider jugs from the bundle and took a swig. "Varric. You. Me. Probably Bethany, Anders, or Merrill." Her eyes watched me closely as she said the last part. My features were carefully schooled. "Do you have any inputs?"

"I'm not a strategist, nor have I experienced the Deep Roads. Your guess is as good as mine." She passed the cider to me. I took a drink – it was fresh pressed cider. Tart, and not up to the standards of Tevinter, but it was good nonetheless.

"You are different than I imagined, you know."

There was no dignifying that with an answer. She continued. "I thought you might be a bit more, I don't know, fanatical?"

"I am what I am, Hawke. We are all a sum of our experiences and mine are different from yours." I rubbed the back of my neck, catching her stare from the corner of my eye. "I do not agree with all you do, but it does not mean it is my place to change you."

"But there are some things you will refuse."

"As there are things you will balk at, Hawke. You cannot expect everyone to get along all of the time."

"Will you follow my orders?"

"As long as I can stomach them."

She pondered over that for a moment. I could see her mulling it over in her head in my peripheral vision. She nudged a shard of broken tile with her foot. Looked up at me again. "I appreciate your honesty."

I nodded. "I am nothing if not forthright."

"But private."

"Yes."

"I'd like to know more about you."

"Why?" I asked, turning my attention to the fire, feeling my interest in the conversation begin to fade.

"Why not?"

I pinned me gaze on her, wry exasperation warring with frustrated irritation. "I'm afraid that you'll have to give me a better argument than that to convince me to give you my experiences. They are the only thing I own, wholly to myself. The only thing I control beyond the grasp of anyone else.

'Giving that up requires a damn good reason."


	5. Tragedy

Note: This one's a little short, but I figured it would be best to tell what needed to be said rather than pad it up with needless content, eh?

Anyhow, let me know how I did. Hope this didn't get too angsty. Trying to avoid angsty.

* * *

The Danger of Touch

By Ambrel

"Tragedy"

* * *

The Deep Roads were pleasantly warm. Surprising that an underground tunnel would be so comfortable.

All things must balance out, however. In order to ensure my continued discomfort, the Maker saw fit to let Hawke invite her sister to accompany us on the journey below. Though the girl was shy around so many strangers, she seemed to take a liking to me no matter my efforts to dissuade her interest.

In truth, I almost would have preferred the abomination in her place. At least then, all I would have to put up with are the occasional snide remark and dirty looks.

No, the girl was here, as were her constant questions. No, nor just constant – _incessant_ questions. Why is it that mages have this unending need to pursue knowledge that is best left alone?

"Surely you miss someone, Fenris?" Bethany asked, keeping pace with my stride. I'd intentionally set a pace for myself that would leave her slightly out of breath to match. Every now and then we came close to overtaking Varric, who'd taken point for this stretch of cavern, and we'd slow to a normal speed.

I glanced around in the vain hope that there might be an attack imminent before answering. "No."

"Not even a little bit?"

"No. Slaves do not have 'friends.'" I said, unable to keep my lip from curling at the last word.

"Oh." She lapsed into silence for a moment, to my relief. It was not to last. "But you have friends now."

"I have a debt to be repaid."

Bethany began to retort. An interruption in the form of Varric stopped her words before they could stoke the anger that lapped at the edges of my fraying patience. "Sunshine."

"Varric?"

"I've been all over Kirkwall. Never been to Lothering though. I'll bet there's lots of story fodder there. Didn't the Hero of Ferelden pass through there?"

"Oh, yes." Bethany replied, her attention successfully diverted for the moment. "We even met her. She was there with King Alistair and the wild witch. Oh, but King Alistair wasn't a king back then. Did you know that she used to work in the Dwarven Carta back before…"

A sigh escaped my lips. Slowing my pace allowed me to drop a bit further behind. Hawke noticed, I'm sure, but aside from a sidelong glance, she ignored me.

I gripped the hilt of my claymore and ensured that it moved smoothly in its scabbard. Something about the descent made my skin itch. This didn't bode well, I could feel it.

As a slave, I'd learned to trust my gut feelings. Normally, they were right. Unfortunately, it was often hard to avoid what was coming.

This was one of those times. Perhaps it was for the best, perhaps not. But in the events that came next, I caught a glimpse of a side of both Hawke and Varric that I'd not thought existed.

I still don't know if that was a blessing or a curse.

* * *

Hawke had to haul the dwarf away from the solid stone door. He was damn near out of his mind in rage at his brother, spitting curses and oaths like the Maker's own fury.

The next few days were very uncomfortable, where I any judge. We traveled. When exhaustion overcame us, Varric would grudge us a few hours rest. We moved on.

It was a forced march. Even Bethany grew silent after a few battles with the denizens of the dark.

On the sixth day, disaster struck yet again.

* * *

We stood around the makeshift cairn. Hawke, back straight, had no expression on her face. Varric was staring hard at the ground.

I bowed my head, surreptitiously rubbing at the rust colored flakes that had dried to my hands. My eyelashes obscured my vision, but I continued to glance at Hawke as unobtrusively as I could.

She was brittle. As though she were a glass sculpture that was teetering on the edge of a shelf, just waiting to be touched the wrong way and sent to a shattering halt. Her form screamed tension, no matter how calm her demeanor.

The knife that she usually kept tucked in her boot was missing. I'd not offered it back to her.

I doubted she'd want it back.

"Hawke." Varric's voice was rough with emotion. He reached a hand out, but stopped before he touched her. I'm sure he saw the same thing I did. And he didn't want to be the one responsible for upsetting her precarious balance. "Hawke. We need to keep going."

She didn't answer.

I've never been good with the emotions of others, but even I knew when to leave someone to their thoughts. I angled myself between the dwarf and the warrior, motioning to the side with my chin. Understanding dawned in his eyes and he stepped away with me.

Varric's eyes glittered in the dark, though not in a menacing manner. He leaned against the cavern wall. I turned my back to Hawke and before I could halt the words, I murmured, "The greatest leaders give in to their grief only privately. It is the least we can do to allow her this much."

"Great leaders. What great leaders do you know, Broody?"

"Only stories."

Varric glanced off to the side. He didn't fidget, but I am sure that was simply because he was exerting tremendous control. His eyes were sheened with what could only be unshed tears. "Stories, huh. Stories don't seem to be worth much right now."

I'll admit, I didn't know what to say to that. Perhaps it one of the others had been there, they might have been able to find the right words for the situation.

Not me, though.

It was a long, uncomfortable wait. My hands itched. My belt was heavy – the knife was shoved bare-bladed against my hip, separated from my skin by the material of my leggings.

She walked past us without a word, when she was ready to go. She nearly disappeared into the darkness before Varric and I caught up.

The days advanced in silence after that. I don't think more than a dozen sentences passed between us the whole way back to the surface.

Varric's apologies at the end of the expedition were met with a strong front from our leader. She excused herself with haste before escaping back to her uncle's home.

I don't know what she told her family about what happened. Not sure I want to. It wasn't a pleasant experience for any involved.

* * *

Days passed uneventfully. They turned into weeks. My empty mansion remained so, and I was left alone with my thoughts without the worry of interruption. When the walls became too much to stomach, I went walking at the dockside, normally under the cover of darkness.

Eventually, I gave up on my informants. Still came out to the sea, though. Soothing.

And it was at the pier where the abomination found me, that night.

"What the bleeding hells happened?" He demanded without preamble, his footsteps thudding across the wooden planks. "What did you do?"

I turned, shoulders loose. Ready to fight. "Excuse me, mage. I must be mistaken. I could have sworn that you just asked me to throw you in the drink. Perhaps you were asking a question instead."

"Hawke hasn't left her uncle's place in almost a month. What happened?"

"Ask someone else."

The mage clenched his fists. He bobbed from foot to foot. Finally, his eyes darted away from my face. "She won't talk to me." He mumbled.

"Then what makes you think it is my place to tell her secrets?"

He glared at me. I turned and settled myself on the dock, legs crossed tailor style.

The sound of his pacing was irritating, but ignorable. "I'm worried about her. Aren't you?"

"Why should I be?"

"Dear Maker, man! She just lost her sister. Have you no heart at all?"

I elected not to reply.

"I don't see why she keeps you around." A strange quality twisted its way through his voice then. I couldn't identify what it was. Didn't much care.

"I'm not being 'kept', mage. I am here to repay a debt."

"What debt?" he asked in a bitter tone. "What debt are you trying to repay? Think you might have already given back all the 'repayment' you need to?"

That accusation hit home a bit more than I'd have liked to admit. The knife sat heavy in my belt pouch. I'd not felt right leaving it anywhere, and so it had remained with me constantly over the past few weeks.

"You're the reason for all this." He said. "I know it. Somehow, it's because of you."

I sighed and placed the flats of my hands on my knees. "Accuse me all you wish, abomination. I'm still not telling you what you want to hear. If she wishes you to know, then she will tell you."

"Not even Varric had anything to say."

"I thought mages were supposed to be somewhat clever." I mused, tapping my fingers against my knee. "Yet it seems as though you fail to grasp the most basic hints."

Water lapped at the stanchions that held the docks above the water. It was a comforting sound, for more relaxing to listen to than the heaving tantrum that the mage was in the middle of orchestrating behind me. It was quickly becoming clear that I was not going to be achieving any peace this night, no matter how hard I tried to ignore the man.

I stood. He subsided almost instantly when I faced him, watching me expectantly.

When I walked past him, the look on his face was priceless.

"You realize she has a fortune right now," he yelled after me. "She has enough money to set herself and her family up for the rest of their lives, but she refuses to do a damned thing."

There was a minor pause in my step, but I recovered. "That is not my concern."

"Why do you insist on hanging around if you don't give a damn about any of us?"

This caused me to stop. I turned my head so I could see him over my shoulder. "What?" I asked, voice low. I pivoted, stalking to the man. He was taller than me by a span, but I didn't care. "What makes you think I don't give a shit? Is it because I won't tell you things that are not mine to tell? If you were in Hawke's place, would you wish someone to tell everyone about the most traumatic event you've experienced before you've come to terms with it?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Did it not occur to you that demanding details so soon might do nothing but twist the knife?"

His eyes blazed and I caught an undercurrent of ethereal blue before he caught control of himself. I spun on my heel, storming off into the darkness before he could recover his wit.

My jaw hurt. It took about ten minutes of walking before I could force myself to unclench my teeth.

Bloody hell. What was that all about?

I've never been one to stay serene in the face of irritation. I knew that much. But my temper had flared then. As much as I'd hate to admit it out loud, his words had found their mark, after a fashion.

If I had ever lost someone, I couldn't remember it. It wasn't in me to empathize on that level with Hawke. In fact, I didn't see where I could relate to her at all. That wasn't the point. That was better left to people like Varric and whomever else she decided to trust with the story.

No, what bothered me was my place in the tale.

I made my way to my makeshift home, giving Gamlen's house a wide berth.

Once there, I sat on my heels in front of the fire. Once I coaxed it back to its usual roar, I reached into my belt pouch and withdrew the dagger.

As was my nightly ritual since returning from the Deep Roads, I held the blade in the fire, letting the metal turn so hot I could not hold it. So hot, the grey metal turned red.

Once it was glowing, I knocked it out of the flames with the poker. Left it on the ground before the hearth.

It was still warm hours later.


	6. Needle

Note: So, yeah, this was a rough one to get out. Still not too satisfied with it, but I think its about as good as it is going to get. At least I have an inkling for the next chapter.

Tell me, is it going too slow? I have to admit, I am so much more interested in getting the characters to interact with each other rather than just devolving into a hastily written love fest. As always, please review. That really makes my day and I respond personally to ALL reviews I get.

* * *

The Danger of Touch

By Ambrel

"Needle"

* * *

Days turned into weeks, which in turn became months.

Card games at the tavern became the norm. I attended at least two or three times a week, usually leaving with a lighter purse by the end of it. In addition to Diamondback, Varric decided it was time to move on to a game he called 'Wicked Grace'. To my chagrin, he and Isabela showed me no mercy as they routinely obliterated me in this particular game. I'd started setting myself a limit when it came to wagers, as we'd had a dry spell with work around the city. Things had begun to settle down after the expedition and there was not as much of a call for mercenaries or hireling guards.

Rules were simple, but they'd been at it much longer than I. They never beat me the same way twice, though. I'm a quick learner.

It was after one such game that I'd decided to cut my losses. Anders had not stopped glaring at me the whole night – in fact, he'd never passed up the chance to let it known to all and sundry exactly how much disdain he had for me.

"Blondie. Your play." Varric rumbled. "You've been mooning over your glass since we started."

"Yes, yes you have," Isabela said, fluttering her hand in his general direction. "What's wrong? Did someone piss in your porridge this morning?"

The mage grabbed a card from his hand at random and threw it down with a huff. "You can't possibly say you're not worried about Hawke."

Isabela rolled her eyes. "She's a big girl, Anders. She'll be fine."

"She hasn't left her house in weeks. She doesn't come by to talk anymore. Has she spoken to any of you?"

I considered my hand, doing my best to stay out of the conversation. To my left, Varric said, "She's in a rough spot right now. This is something that takes a little time, Anders. Her sister died. You can't expect her to just bounce right back after something like that. Give her a bit of space. She'll come around,"

"Indeed." I murmured. I played a card and was rewarded with a raised eyebrow from the dwarf.

"And how would you know, elf?" Anders said. His voice was nearly a growl.

Cute.

"I don't." I replied.

"She won't even talk about it." The mage muttered. "What the hell happened down there?"

Interesting. Varric had elected not to talk about it either, it seemed.

Isabela rolled her eyes and laid her cards out. "I win again boys. Are we going to keep our heads in the game or gossip like fishwives?"

"I'm afraid that's it for me," I said quickly, handing over my cards. "I'm at my limit, both for money and gossip."

* * *

Night had set in well before I'd even left the tavern. Shadows only lengthened as I made my way back to the rich quarter. The streets were empty but for the howl of wind over the stones. The door swung on its bent hinge, letting a long slow whine echo over the road as I approached the manor. It was familiar. Peaceful.

A strange thing for me. But welcome.

Upon entering the house, I put my shoulder to the door and heaved it into place. Waking to the sound of a clanging door in the middle of the night would not be the most pleasant of ways to begin the day, as I was fairly certain I'd probably be groggy and a bit muddled from the late hour I'd kept this evening. And Aveline had hinted very strongly to me that keeping the door secured would go a long way in keeping inquisitive guardsmen and assorted others from investigating too closely.

It was beginning to edge into the cooler end of the year. Leaves had already begun to fall from the trees and the scent of flowers was not near as prevalent as it used to. I'd taken to leaving the windows in the master bedroom shuttered, though the lack of the wildflowers left me somewhat bereft. It was better to miss the smell of flowers than to lose the heat.

Speaking of heat, the amount of light emanating from my quarters was far brighter than it should have been.

I had left my sword in the room but I was never unarmed. Aside from my lyrium inflicted abilities, I still had Hawke's knife shoved into a makeshift sheathe on my hip. With those added assurances, I stalked to the door and peered inside.

And was promptly surprised at what I saw.

Hawke sat in my chair. I couldn't see her face but there were few women I've seen with such a characteristic angle to their form. Though all that was visible was the curve of one shoulder, the innate, unbidden pride of her carriage was apparent. Not for the first time, I imagined how handy it must be to be able to fill a room through sheer force of personality.

Even when not meaning to.

Her boots were propped up on an overturned crate, shifting restlessly. I circled warily until her profile came to view. She was fiddling with something thin and flat, turning it over and over in her hands but she wasn't looking at it. Instead, she was staring at the fire with a far-away cast to her features.

There was no indication that she'd heard me, though I was making no particular effort to be silent. I made my way to the bench and eased down to it, watching her warily.

The woman only turned the object over in her hands with the ease of familiarity, fingers moving over it in a way that said she'd spent many an hour fondling its surface.

I was at a bit of a loss, this time. This was the first I'd seen the woman since we parted at the Deep Roads. I'd filled up my time taking the odd mercenary jobs around town, doing nothing that would take me too far out of the area in the off chance that I would be needed for whatever might catch Hawke's eye. She'd never called on me though. As far as I knew, she hadn't contacted anyone but for Varric and occasionally the chantry man, Sebastian.

Her presence in my home was odd, to say the least.

When several moments passed without a comment or even a glance, I made a decision: It really didn't matter what she was doing there.

I reached over to my shelf and grabbed the leather sack that lay there. Inside, there were a number of thick, embossed leather scales and a few lengths of sturdy cord. A search produced the hook needle and punch I'd bought down at the lowtown market. Then I shrugged out of my armor and set to work, attaching the new leather to the old, ignoring her entirely.

The silence was almost companionable.

* * *

The night grew longer. The fire burned down. As the room cooled, my agitation began to lap at my consciousness. Scars were stinging.

I glanced up at the fire and saw that it was little more than red coals with the odd flame licking upward every now and then. White ash looked almost like snow drifts. They were piled up against the remnants of the fire as if they were actively smothering the heat.

Wind buffeted the shutters, sending an unexpected shiver up my spine. Suddenly, I wanted nothing more than to stoke the fire to its usual roaring height. There were more broken chairs right outside the door. Retrieving them soon made the flames leap hungrily skyward.

* * *

She hadn't moved yet, and the night was nearing its end.

Sleep was a distant dream, right now. I was tired, but something kept me awake.

Curiosity, most likely.

I'd almost finished with the scales. Sometime during the small hours of the morning I'd rearranged myself so I was sitting beside the fire, legs crossed, as I worked methodically with the punch. They were a nice addition to my armor, and had I the urge to speak that night, I would have thanked Hawke for picking them up for me. Of all the things I'd come to expect as a free man, such generosity was not one of them.

I held the leathers out in front of me, eyeing them critically. Each scale was embossed with a lyrium design. It seemed almost mocking, but somehow fitting at the same time.

When she spoke it was so unexpected, I nearly jumped from my skin. It wasn't that I had forgotten that she was there. I'd assumed she'd either fallen asleep or would remain disinterested in conversation. Her voice was gravelly and rough as though she'd neglected to use it for quite some time. "I didn't know you could sew."

Recovering from my surprise took only a moment. "I would be remiss if I did not care for my own equipment."

She didn't answer. Perhaps the extent of her inclination to talk was met. I settled the armor back across my lap and took up the hook needle again. "You know," I said in what I hoped might be a conversational tone, "It hurts, sometimes."

"It hurts?" she repeated. Her voice was dull. Grey, like the color that was leached from the walls.

"Yes. It hurts. The needle, that is." I held up one hand. I'd gotten myself pretty good a few times that night and it showed. Firelight, especially my particular roaring blaze, was better than nothing but the best repairs were usually done in the middle of the day when the full force of the sunlight could be used. The bleeding had stopped and the pricks, while large and somewhat blood crusted, were well on their way to being scabbed over. "I'm not always careful enough. Needles are not kind. They'll bite you if you forget."

A muffled snort was all she offered.

I turned my hand. Across my fingers were silvery remnants of old scars. Most were from blades of some sort, but here and there were small, circular marks from old needles. "They scar over sometimes. They don't really go away." I dropped my hand. Continued to work the scales onto the armor. "When I first learned how to work my own equipment, I thought I might lose a hand. I would fall asleep with makeshift bandages on my hands every night. Didn't seem as though I'd ever learn. Didn't feel like the pain would stop, either. Moving my hands hurt."

I smoothed a scale against the armor. "Didn't want to wake up the next day. Seemed like getting up and continuing my day to day duties would simply be too much. What good is a warrior without his hands? What could possibly be worth doing this to myself? If it hindered the performance of my duties, then Danarius would have certainly assigned someone else to care for my gear."

She mumbled something. I couldn't understand what she said, so I glanced over my shoulder and inclined my head. She repeated herself. "Doesn't seem like something you'd want someone else to do."

"It wasn't." I said. "You're right. If I was having problems with the pain, imagine what would have happened to someone who wasn't used to it. Wasn't invested in it. What if whoever did it decided to do a slipshod job of it? I'd end up paying." Standing, I carefully draped the leathers over the bench. "Can't say the thought of depending on another slave – who by all rights would not feel any loyalty to me in the least – sat well with me at all.

'So I kept my mouth shut and worked through it all. I didn't breathe a word about it to anyone – not that there are anyone I could really confide in. All the same, I was stronger for the suffering." I crossed my arms and turned to regard her. "In the end, the pain became bearable. My skills grew sharper. My armor stronger. But even so, I was somehow lessened by the experience, even as it increased my 'worth'."

"Your worth?"

"Yes. Every skill, every pain, every thing that happened in my life was for one single goal. To increase my value." I settled onto the bench. "Everything I've learned in my life was a lesson taught with pain. Sometimes those lessons have the effect of making me stronger, faster, better…but that does not hide the scars that accompany the skills. It doesn't make the old aches go away, for all I've learned."

Hawke stared at me, gripping her keepsake. "Why are you telling me all this?"

"Thought you wanted to know who I am."

I caught the barest glimpse of fire in her eyes before her expression subsided yet again into something akin to depression. "It sounded like you were trying to give me some half-assed parable or life lesson."

My face was schooled into passivity, but it was hard to deny the smirk that tried to climb up. "It may not be to Varric's caliber, but I like to think someone could learn from my life. I certainly did."

"Your stories have a bit to be desired."

"I've never been much of a storyteller." I replied with a shrug. I sat on the floor again and leaned against the mantle My eyelids were heavy. "But then again, I doubt stories are why you are here."

"Then why do you think I'm here?"

I shrugged and rested my head back against the wall. "Truthfully? I do not know." My eyes began to drift closed. "Do you?"

Sleep took me before she found an answer.


	7. Memories

Note: Okay, sorry for the long space between updates. And let me say a HUGE thank you to the people who reviewed!

This chapter got away with me a little, which is good, considering I didn't really have any idea what to do after the first couple of paragraphs. Fenris got a little talky here, too. I hope I kept him in character. As well as Hawke. I'm about to make them get out of the funk. Angst is fun, but not the whole purpose for this story. Eh.

Oh, yes, and thank you to the people who left reviews, again. I couldn't reply to one or two because they were posted anonymously, but I truly appreciate them.

Onward to the story!

* * *

The Danger of Touch

By Ambrel

"Memories"

* * *

It's surprising how quickly things become routine.

My days were filled with monotony, from waking in the morning, to attending to the games in the Lowtown district, to taking the occasional mercenary job to keep a semblance of coin in my coffer. Anders had taken to granting me silence in favor of bitter stares. It suited me to leave it thus. At least I did not have to contend with his nattering about freedom from what he perceived as slavery. And the accusations that flung a bit too close to the truth.

After the first night I'd found the woman in my chair, I had woken to find her gone. My neck had gone stiff from sleeping on the stone floor in such a position. Sometime in the ensuing hours, I'd slouched down to the point where my chin dug into the soft area above my clavicle. I pushed myself to my feet, rubbing the back of my neck.

Light leaked in from the unsteady shutters. It was brighter than it had any right to be. From the way it fell on the ragged carpet, I could tell that it was only late to mid morning, meaning I had probably only slept for a couple hours at most.

There was nothing that needed my attention that day, I reasoned as I teased the fire back into a blaze. Perhaps going back to sleep would be a good idea. And in the back of my mind, the thought of deciding something so trivial as returning to sleep was a concept of novelty. It was only since joining this motley crew that I'd even had the luxury of uninterrupted rest.

I reclaimed my chair with every intention of returning to the sweet oblivion of rest. Before I could do so, however, a sharp, hard object made itself known beneath me. Muttering a curse, I shifted and dug into the side of the cushion. I yanked whatever the hell it was out from the chair and stared at it.

It was a picture, surrounded by a rough, unfinished wooden frame. It was small enough to span only my palm. Two faces stared out at me.

It wasn't well made, by any means. The artist was lacking in many basic skills – anatomy was skewed, the shading didn't mesh quite as well as it should – these were things that I had watched some of my fellow slaves practice with almost religious fervor in hopes that they would not be found wanting and sold off to a possibly worse fate.

Eyes that were vaguely similar to Hawke's peered from faces that were obviously adolescent. It was charcoal, so there was no color, but regardless of the minimal technical skills I could tell there was caring in the whole composition. It was a girl and a boy, standing together with almost identical expressions on their faces. Smiles. The girl's smile seemed more genuine, a shy upturning of her lips, while the boy showed his teeth in a grin. If I were any judge of human age, they must have been around their early teens.

It wasn't Hawke. I was certain of it. Her jaw was not that fine. She was more striking than delicate, in any case. Certainly it was just as true when she was a girl as now. That meant only one thing, then.

Bethany. And the boy must have been Carver.

Twins, then?

Scrawled on the edge of the picture, right beneath the frame, were letters that I couldn't read.

I sighed. "Seems there are always roads which cannot be crossed," I said. The picture found its new home up on the mantle of the fireplace, situated between a dusty pile of books and a bottle of cider that I hadn't quite finished yet.

Sitting back in my chair, I tried to rest. But it was long in coming. I was troubled, but by what, I was not sure.

* * *

We fell into a rhythm, Hawke and I.

In the absence of anything else to do, I'd begun playing cards more and more often at the pub with the others. Things fell into place, albeit slowly. There was a constant tension that even I could not deny, and it was personified by the conspicuously empty chair at the table. The one that Hawke normally occupied.

After the games, more often than not I would return to the mansion to find Hawke there, absolutely still save for what I'd come to know was a nervous tick. She picked at her hair with one hand, sometimes tugging gently, sometimes twisting. It was almost endearing, the way she did so with such little awareness of her actions.

It was awkward for me, especially the first few times it happened. I hardly knew what to do about her decision to come to my rooms for the sole reason to brood. Most of the time, the nights passed in absolute silence and the only reason I'd even notice her presence was because she occupied my chair.

Almost made me want to search the house for another to drag up there, but I wasn't sure how such an action would be received. I didn't mind her using the mansion in her search for solitude, but it wasn't in me to purposefully accommodate another squatter.

And so, the days passed. Then weeks. Soon, before I knew it, two months had gone by and Hawke had become almost a constant fixture in the evenings.

In the absence of work, my schedule had become erratic. I would often find myself tired and I attributed it to the fact that I would fall asleep leaning against the hearth more often than not. It was on one such day that I had remained wakeful for more of the night that I managed to finally rest in the young hours of the morning.

It was fitful sleep, but it claimed me for the rest of the day. I woke to the velvety cover of darkness.

At first, I was very close to remaining where I was. I had no direction at the moment. No where I needed to be, nothing in particular to do. Once I moved, a pressure in my bladder reminded me that I'd not attended to certain basic necessities in the past few hours. It was insistent. I groaned.

There was a privy in the house. Like many other places of nobility, the Hightown homes had been retrofitted with plumbing systems that took advantage of the natural flow of water around the city. There was only one problem; it just happened to be at the other end of the mansion. I just barely managed not to stagger my way through the halls.

Once my immediate concerns were relieved, I felt restless. I never made it much of a habit to pick through the mansion's contents, but boredom was beginning to take its toll.

Hah. Boredom. Another novelty.

So it was that I found myself poking through one of the abandoned bedrooms. This one was obviously inhabited by a woman at one point, if the décor and numerous perfume bottles on the vanity were any indication. Facepaints littered the dresser and there were dresses laid out as if waiting for their mistress to pick one. I wrinkled my nose at that. There was a dried, old bloodstain on the floor that told me what had most likely happened to the former occupant of this room. "Too had it wasn't _her._" I growled to myself.

Damn mages tainted this place.

Perhaps it was a fit of 'broody pique' that made me gather up the elegant gowns, twisting them together into an easily transported mound. I reached into the wardrobe as well, yanking out article after article of finely made, expensive clothing. Greens, blues, golds, they all went under my arm. Thick brocades, smooth silks, tatted lace. There was even a jacket or two that was lined with satin and a shawl embroidered in silver.

I didn't care. The wealth of material in my arms would keep a small village fed for a year. More, perhaps.

But I didn't care.

I marched back to my commandeered quarters, where the fire was almost out. The pile of clothing hit the ground beside me and I knelt to coax the flames back into existence.

"What are you doing, Elf?" Varric asked. I'd heard him enter the house. He had more trouble than most in opening the door when it was wedged shut. Probably his lower center of gravity.

"What's it look like?"

"It looks like you're stinking up the whole place even worse than usual. That's quite a feat, you know."

I grunted and fed another article to the fire. It was something diaphanous and sheer. Looking at it filled me with disgust and forced me to tamp down ugly memories that tried to surface.

"Anyway. You coming to the game tonight?" He asked when no other reply was forthcoming from me.

I shook my head. "I'll pass this time. Why did you come here?" He had entered the room, standing off to the side with that characteristic tilt to his head. He crossed his arms over his chest and jutted his shoulder out. "You don't normally come track me down when I don't show for a night of fleecing."

"Wanted to talk."

"Imagine that. You. Wanting to talk." A sigh passed my lips, taking all the scorn from the words before I even uttered them.

Varric jumped unto the bench, unperturbed. "You know, something needs to happen."

I rocked back on my heels and looked at him from the corner of my eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing much. Just wondering if you'd have the stones and the willingness to help a fellow out." For all the flippancy of his tone, he seemed to be choosing his words carefully, if the pause before speaking meant anything.

"Speak plainly. I've no time for games."

"But you have time to burn women's clothing for no discernable reason?" he chuckled.

"They stink of magic."

"Yes, well, those mages. They don't always have the best hygiene. Look at where our apostates are. A sewer, a slum, and..." Just as he said it, a pained look crossed his features before being shoved back under the mask of joviality. "Anyway. Back to my point. I need your help, for the good of our merry band of misfits."

"I'm listening."

"Hawke needs a kick in the arse," he said.

"I'd imagine you can handle that on your own. You've the height advantage, after all. Should be easy to line up a shot."

Varric rolled his eyes. "Funny. What I mean is that she needs to get out of her funk. I know it has only been a few weeks since…it happened. But while she's wallowing in her guilt, her family suffers. I know her; she's not going to forgive herself if she lets the opportunity slide because she couldn't get over her depression."

"What do you expect I can do?"

"You're the newest person here. You don't know her."

I shook my head. "You're not making a convincing argument, Dwarf. In fact, I'm sure you are making the opposite point than what you're trying to prove."

He leaned forward on the bench. "My point, is," he said," you are in a prime position to deliver the much needed shove. You're impersonal and aloof. Somewhat uninvolved. But not a stranger. And you were there when everything happened."

Ah. There was the gambit. "You don't want to say anything yourself."

Defensiveness bloomed in his eyes. "I-"

"Why would you feel guilty? You didn't do anything. You didn't cause anything."

He clasped his hands together. "That's false."

My mirthless laugh echoed in the chamber. "No. You know full well Hawke would have found her way into that expedition with or without you. You simply made it easier to attempt." I stood and grabbed another article of clothing. A dress this time. "You'd have more luck with the abomination. I'm sure you wouldn't have to do much convincing to get him to go running to her."

"He'd make a mess of things. I already considered it."

I shook the dress out. From one of the folds in the cloth, a scrap of parchment emerged. It fluttered down to the floor and I regarded it for a moment before shoving it aside with my foot. "The woman's gone through much. In the time I've known her, she's done everything for everyone else, without asking for anything in return. Including helping me. She essentially stopped the attacks on my freedom that I had been fighting against for the past three years. You'd have me repay this kindness with a demand that she not consider her own needs in wake of a tragedy?" I straightened and turned on him, lowering the garment so I could see him head on. "She deserves to find her solace, regardless of how long it takes her, Varric. Surely you, of all people, should understand that."

He had the decency to look somewhat ashamed. "I think that is the most that I've ever heard you say at once, Broody." He said, injecting some of his usual humor. "But I think your beliefs are a little misplaced. I told you – I _know _Hawke. Letting her brood is no kindness. Letting her live in that stinking hovel with her uncle belittling her is cruel. And letting her mother exist in such a place with the two of them like that is beyond bad."

"Then tell her."

"I have. She won't listen. I've said my piece. I just hope you think on it." Varric stood, grabbing the stray parchment from the floor. "By the way, just so you know. She never told her mother what happened."

"What?"

He was walking out the door. Then, he paused. "Leandra thinks that Hawke was the one who…took care of things, down there."

A curse rolled off my tongue as I chucked the dress into the fire.

* * *

Routine, indeed.

Hawke arrived several minutes after my conversation with the dwarf. Without preamble, she sat in my armchair, pushing at the floor with the balls of her feet to move it a few inches from the fire.

I was still feeding the flames. Some of the garments were so large with frills, lace, and petticoats that they demanded to be torn prior to burned.

She didn't say much for the first few hours. I couldn't tell if she was watching me or the fire, but I paid her no mind.

Finally, when she did speak, it was with a voice that held the weight of agony. "First you surprise me with sewing, and now you spend your night destroying clothing."

"Not just clothing," I said. I had just decided to take a break, leaning back, supporting my weight with my hands. "I think of it as catharsis. Burning memories, if you will."

She slumped, her hands clasping the arms of the chair. "Does it work?"

"No."

"Why do it, then?"

I glanced over my shoulder at her. She was studying me. Her face was impassive and devoid of emotion. Her eyes were shadowed and dark despite the flicker of light from the fire. Despite the careful show of nothingness, I got the feeling that she was truly interested in my answer.

Varric's words danced in my head as I considered my reply. "Because, I…" I started, the drew a deep breath. "I think that…it's hard to say no to your past. It controls you. No matter what you say, how hard you deny it. It has a hold on you."

"For someone who has no past, you seem to have a lot to say about it."

That stung. _Don't let her see it affect you. Weakness._

I turned my head away so I could see the fire. "Perhaps that is why. All of my memories are recent. Most of them are bad. But if I let my past control me, I'd still be a slave. I'd be letting them do… I'd.. I wouldn't be free. Or as free as I am now." I smiled, probably a bit ruefully, but glad she could not see my face. Glad I could not see hers, either, considering what I was about to say.

I took a deep breath. This was either going to result in my head being bashed in, or tears. Neither one was something I was comfortable dealing with. "If I let my memories dictate who I chose to be," I said in a voice that was almost too low to hear, "Then you would not be lying to your mother right now."

There was a sudden intake of breath, as though I'd just slapped her. I turned my upper body. She was staring at me with eyes like saucers. Unshed tears glistened. I could feel my eyebrows knit together; the only outward show of my concern. "Would you?" I asked.


	8. Market

Note : As I promised, less angst, more development. I'm tired of Hawke being in a funk, so she gets out of it, like, yesterday. This chapter is dialogue heavy, so please tell me who is and who is not in character. I tried, but Sebastian is a character that I hardly use, so he might be a bit…off.

Thanks for the awesome reviews. I think I replied to all the signed ones and I WOULD have replied to the others if I could. It gave me warm fuzzies. And thanks to Hekateras for directing more readers my way via the Bioware forums. You rock.

* * *

The Danger of Touch

By Ambrel

"Market"

* * *

"That is none of your business." She said in a voice of ice.

If looks could kill, I'd probably have been a scorch mark on the floor. Her expression dredged up a wisp of a memory that sent a chill down my spine.

_Hadriana. Thick voice. Thicker magic. Surprising pain, followed by the cold, cold floor. Always over almost as soon as it began. She smiled. "I do it like this so you're never the worse after punishment. You should thank me, Little Wolf." Her hands glowed, cold, then hot, then cold again._

The fabric fell from my fingers and I found myself turning on my knees to face her. My mouth went dry. Heart sped up.

_Angry. Made her angry. _

_Damnit. _

_Quick. What will calm her? _

"_On your knees, Little Wolf. You won't have as far to fall."_

She'd stood and I found myself staring at her hands. They were clenched in front of her. Only a few feet from my face. There were silvery scars tracing her fingers, climbing up her forearms, before disappearing into her sleeves. Muscle and tendon stood out against her skin and her knuckles were white.

But not glowing.

I took a deep breath. Hopefully she didn't see my composure slip. I stood, perhaps a bit too quickly, then backed away a step, running a hand through my hair as a mask of indifference slipped over my features.

"Perhaps it is outside my place. You're right." I agreed. "But if I have learned one thing, it is that your word is one of the only things that someone cannot take from you. The only person that can corrupt it is you."

"What are you saying?"

My hands fluttered. I clenched my fists and picked a place over her left shoulder to look at. Middle distance. Safer.

_Don't look in the eyes. Defiance._

"Nothing. Forget it." My voice was wooden. For a brief moment, I wondered how it must sound to her. "My apologies."

The tension in my body was spooled almost to a breaking point. Hawke moved first, and I had to stop my flinch. She came closer to me until there was barely a foot between our faces. "You can't just say something like that and expect me to let it go."

"You obviously do not wish to hear what I have to say."

"Why won't you look at me?" She snapped her fingers in front of my nose. My lip curled. I fought the urge to back up a step.

She waited for my answer. She waited a full minute and I could feel the heat of her stare as every second ticked by. I don't know when, during the entire ordeal, but my eyes had fallen to the floor. My back and neck hurt and it was all I could do to remain upright in the face of her sheer presence.

So, it was a relief when she turned and stormed away. The broken tiles of the floor clattered beneath her boots. The stairs echoed angrily with her footsteps. The door, when she finally reached it, slammed shut with the force of her swing before creaking open once again.

Only then did I allow the strength to flow out of my limbs. I sagged against the fireplace.

"Three damned years." I muttered into my hand. "Three years. She hounds me still."

* * *

Bathing was no simple task in the manor. While it had ways to remove waste, the architects of the city had yet to figure out how to deliver fresh water to the homes without the use of magic. In a way, it was almost comforting.

Still, it made it no easier to make oneself clean. It involved fetching water from the well, which while thankfully located within the mansion grounds, it was freezing. A good workout for the arms though. The bucket seemed to fall forever before I heard it thunk against the water's surface.

I'd gotten used to the privacy of a home by then, so it came as some surprise when the chantry boy walked into the courtyard without so much as a by-your-leave as I dumped the bucket over my head to wash away the lingering suds. "Fenris," he said, his brogue burring through the early morning, "I was stopping by to see… if…"

I straightened and faced him. "Sebastian."

"Uh. I'm sorry, Fenris. I didn't realize you were… uh…" he trailed off, blushing. He turned his back and clasped his hands behind his back.

"Washing. It's something that most civilized men do, yes?" I asked. I walked to where my clothes were folded neatly on a bench next to a towel.

Sebastian shifted uncomfortably while I dried my skin. "Ah, yes, well, forgive me for barging in on you. It's not polite to intrude."

I shrugged into my shirt and cinched my trousers around my hips. My collection of clothing other than armor had grown to a grand total of two sets, though the shirt was still of the annoying blousy variety. At least the pants were more or less normal. "I've spent my life being stared at. You can't possibly think it only happens when I'm clothed."

"Ah." He seemed disturbed. "Well. I came by to talk to you for a bit, my friend. Do you have time?"

"Indeed. It has been somewhat boring of late."

Sebastian followed me through the dark rooms, into my living quarters. I gestured to a seat and he sunk into the chair with a sigh. After a moment of fishing around in his belt pouch, he withdrew two apples and tossed one to me. "Here. Courtesy of the Chantry Mother's kindness."

I raised the apple in a grave salute before biting into the bright green skin. Tart sweetness blazed on my tongue. "Give my thanks. What was it that you wanted to speak of?"

"Hawke came to speak to me yesterday. Quite late at night, in fact," he replied without preamble. "She seemed quite upset."

Chewing the apple saved me from replying. After a moment of scrutiny, he continued. "She asked me to look through the records for some information on her mother's old estate."

I swallowed, then gestured with the apple. "Are you sure you should be breaking confidence with one of your faithful?"

"She didn't come to me as a priest."

"Indeed." I took another bite, then after I finished chewing I said, "It cannot be any wiser to break confidence with a friend. Besides, I know nothing of the nobility here. I don't see how I can help you."

"The Amell estate is only a few minutes down the way from here, Fenris. I thought you might have put the idea in her head to reclaim it."

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"I see." He sighed. "I'd hoped to gain some insight on this change of events before speaking with the Viscount's clerks."

"Perhaps she finally took Varric's advice."

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "Varric put her up to all this?"

I shrugged and tossed my apple core into the fire. "Seems like the type, doesn't he? Well meaning. Loves to talk."

The brother's face was troubled. His brow was creased. "Aye, but I do hope they know what they're doing. It will probably create ripples throughout the societal structure of this place if she retakes what was gone for almost twenty-five years. I just hope that she's strong enough for all the backlash that is bound to happen."

"She is," I said, and was surprised to find that I actually believed it.

"You sound so certain." Sebastian said.

"I am. We never know our true strength until faced with adversity. I'd say Hawke has seen her share."

* * *

Hawke stopped coming by for her late night brooding sessions. Unsurprising, really, after what I'd said. I didn't like dwelling on the feelings that evening conjured up: the fear, the shame. The anger.

Didn't much like remembering certain people. Certain things.

I did miss the occasional fresh bread, though. Eventually, it got to me enough so that I stepped out into the street, armored up as though I was to face an enemy horde, and headed into the market.

The food stalls that populated the richer district were never much interest for me. I always preferred the lowtown markets. While less abundant and perhaps less sanitary, the merchants there carried food that was more in line with my tastes. Grain bread, dried fruit to see through the winter, hard cheese that kept well. None of that soft, easily perishable product that did little to fill the stomach.

With that reasoning, my feet took me to the lower quarter.

I'd never fallen from the habit of surveying my surroundings. It was drilled into me and the instinct had always served me well.

I say Leandra long before she even knew I was present. Found myself debating on whether or not to give her a wide berth or act as though I'd not seen her. Something about the thought of speaking with the woman made my legs tense as though I wanted to run away.

Perhaps it was the way she carried herself. Poised and prepared, like Hawke. _Like Hadriana._

I shook my head.

She must have felt my eyes on her back. She turned around and a flash of recognition followed by a faint crinkling of her eyes passed over her face. "Ah, hello there. Fenton, is it?"

"Fenris, ma'am." I replied automatically.

"Ah, yes. Sorry, I can never keep my little girl's friends straight sometimes. Care to walk with me? She's told me so much about you."

"Uh," I dithered, glancing between her expectant face and the market stalls behind her. "Um, if you wish."

A genuine smile split her face. "Ah, good. I'm not as young as I used to be. I'll have you over for dinner if you'd be so kind as to help me carry."

I noticed the oversized basket in her arms. "Surely you don't need that much in the way of food, madam."

"Food, cloth, linens. All these things must be kept up with, my dear. And my daughter – well, she just manages to go through clothing as though it's going out of fashion."

I took the basket from her. The woman was as talkative as Varric, though a bit more subdued. Trailing her through the market, stopping at this stall for fruit, that one for bread, and then another for linens, I felt as though I were a lost puppy.

Eventually it came to be that I didn't feel like a slave. I was doing the same work as a domestic slave might perform back in the Imperium.

Perhaps it was her insistence on walking beside me, instead of in front. Or her constant attempts at conversation. She would hold up two seemingly identical items and ask me what my opinion on each one was.

That was novel.

The early afternoon was chill as Leandra finished her business. I was laden with goods, from soaps, to candles, to foodstuffs and cloth. "Ah, there we are. I'm so glad you showed up here, Fenris. I would have just looked ridiculous trying to haul all that to Gamlen's house."

Gamlen's house. Not 'my house', or 'our house'. "What of Hawke?"

"Oh, she had something to do today. She mentioned having to see the Viscount, then she dropped in to tell me she was heading to the Wounded Coast with Aveline and Anders. Have you met Anders? Such a thin lad. He should eat more. Although," she leaned toward me and rested her hand gently on my wrist. She didn't notice me stiffen. "You aren't much better." She didn't touch me for more than an instant before she moved off again.

I dragged my composure back from whence it fled. "What was her business on the Wounded Coast?"

"Something about a favor for the Viscount. I don't really know the details," she said with a wave of her hand. "But she did say it may help get things in order, whatever that means."

"I see."

We walked in silence the rest of the way. I tried to bow out politely when we reached her door, but Leandra would have none of it. "No, no, dear lad. You helped me and you helped my …daughter. I'll at least see you fed."

She opened the door to reveal a small shack. It smelled of dog and something slightly musty, though I really couldn't complain, considering the state of my lodgings. I settled the heavy basket on a nearby table in front of the firepit.

"Who's that?" a drunken voice called out. Male. Belligerent. I felt my hackles rise. "Leandra, is that you?"

She was too polite to roll her eyes, but the look she gave me told me she wanted to. "Yes, Gamlen. I just got back from the market."

When there was no response, she herded me to one of the nicer of the rickety chairs. "Come now, sit. Do you like venison stew?"

"I…don't know." I mumbled as I sat.

"Oh, well I'm sure you will. We can have a chat while I get everything together."

I stared up at her from where I sat. Took in her smile – too bright. Her movements – too energetic. I wanted to refuse. The words were on the tip of my tongue, but something in her expression stopped me. Her eyes were sad.

"_Didn't you have any friends, Fenris?" Merrill asked me. _

_I didn't have a good answer for that. So I brushed her off. _

"_Don't you miss them?" She pressed. "It must be lonely."_

"I… would appreciate the company." I said with a mild sigh. "I don't get much opportunity to speak with others of…normal things."

She laughed. "Oh, you and I are one and the same. One and the same. It's no wonder she likes you."

I blinked. "Hawke is a venerable warrior, ma'am."

"Well, yes. She never did take after her father's side of the family. I always said she would make a formidable woman one day."

"Indeed." I watched with curiosity as the older woman hacked at the slab of venison she'd withdrawn from its waxed paper. There was no finesse, there. Not much strength either. In fact, the woman seemed to be all but skin and bones. "Might I assist?" I asked, standing.

"Oh, no. It's terribly rude to let a guest help with the meal."

"Perhaps it would go faster if I accomplished one task while you did something more advanced?" I ventured.

"Well, the vegetables could use some work, too." She said. I took the knife from her hands and slid the meat closer to my chair.

Leandra spent the rest of the preparation in gleeful conversation, though I only interjected a word here and there.

We had just gotten the pot to boil over the fire when the door opened, blasting us with a gust of cold wind. It smelled of rain out there and the sky was prematurely dark.

"I'm back, mother," Hawke called. "How was the market?"

"Oh, fine, dear," Leandra said. "I ran into your friend and he helped me carry everything back home. Such a dear lad. He's staying for dinner."

I turned. Hawle's eyes focused on me. "It's you," she said. Her tone was flat.

"Yes. I'm afraid I cannot stay, though," I said, turning to Leandra. "The weather looks threatening. Thank you for allowing me to help with dinner. I learned much."

"Wait, Fenris," Leandra said, reaching for me. I flinched back and her eyes widened. "Um. I don't recall you buying anything at the market today. Your sack is empty."

It was. I'd tied it to my belt when I acquiesced to help Leandra. "I'll be fine."

"No." Hawke said. There was a note of finality in her tone. "You should stay. The rain shouldn't be here for a while yet. I can't have you going hungry."

I gave her a wordless stare. It was almost tempting to tell her no again. The thrill of disobedience hadn't exactly worn off yet. But before I could voice anything, my stomach rumbled. Loudly.

A spark of laughter flickered in her eyes. "Looks like your belly agrees, Fenris."

With that, she shooed myself and her mother from the fire, clucked over the arrangement of the ingredients, and set about rearranging everything. "One of these days, mother, I'll teach you how to cook."


	9. Homemade

Note: Hi there! And sorry for the hiatus! Work's been hellish. I'm trying to add some meat to the story after reading through the sparse paragraphs of the previous chapters. Tell me how you think it went?

I will be replying to reviews shortly after this - if you reviewed and didn't get a reply, I'm sorry. I'll be rectifying that immediately!

* * *

The Danger of Touch

By Ambrel

"Homemade"

* * *

The rain fell far sooner than Hawke had predicted, of course. I hovered at the window, watching the water hurtle from the sky as though chased from the heavens, and mumbled curses to the Maker for the luck he bestowed upon me under my breath.

"Fenris," Hawke called from where she was kneading sweet smelling dough into round loaves, "Do you have something to share with the rest of the class?"

I turned and cocked my head. "Pardon me?"

She glanced up, her hands continuing their work unsupervised. "It's all well and good for you to speak gibberish when we're fighting bandits, but I'm afraid Mother and I only speak common."

"Oh… nothing." I turned back to the window. The streets outside were dark despite the early hour. What I could make out from the square of light that was throw on the landing by the window was nothing but mud and grit, pounded together with furious raindrops until the world had become a morass of slick slime that seemed unique to Lowtown. I'd never seen it anywhere else before. The few times I had the misfortune to travel through it, I was lucky to keep my feet at all. Some quality about the thick sludge denied the idea of friction. "I thought the rain was supposed to wait."

Leandra sighed. She was setting out wooden plates a bit prematurely. I got the impression that she didn't quite know what to do with herself when she had a guest. Or perhaps it was just that her guest was one such as me. I didn't really know what to do with myself either. Still, she put a game smile on her face and turned to me. "Come, now, young man. Perhaps a bit of wine will do you some good while we wait for the bread." Before I could decline, she was before me, thrusting a cup in my direction. A bouquet that smelled half sour assaulted my nose and I had to fight to keep my lip from curling. Under her expectant stare, I found myself raising the cup to take a small sip. After the acrid tang assaulted the sides of my tongue, I nodded in what I hoped was a grateful fashion. It must have worked, because she retreated back to the table.

Hawke had put the bread over the fire. A pleasant herbal aroma wafted forth and my mouth began to water. Fresh baked bread. When had I ever had that before?

She immediately went after the venison, where I'd stacked the pieces into a pile as they were cut apart. Her fingers seemed impossibly nimble as she brandished a knife, small and sharp, and began to slice the meat into a more uniform size. Leandra settled into a chair at the table and suddenly, I felt a bit exposed. I was slouched against the wall, almost across the room from the other two. A few stray drops of rain managed to go against the general drive of the storm and they hit me with stinging force. I reached outside the window aperture where the shutters were banging against the exterior walls in time with the gusts. They were slippery under my fingers. I had to try a few times before I managed a decent grip on the rickety wood, bracing my opposite arm on the sill and breathing through my mouth because of the rain that threatened to go up my nose. Fighting the wind, I yanked the shutter towards me and tied it to a hook on the wall. Then I turned and repeated the process with the opposite shutter. It only took a few moments but by the time I finished, my hair was plastered to my forehead and my shoulders were soggy.

"Thank you, Fenris," Leandra said around her cup.

I nodded diffidently. I was still lurking in my corner of the room. While the warmth of the fire began to fill the room, with it came a smell that reminded me why they had left the window open in the first place. Something between the scent of stale urine and musky body odor rose with the heat. Cheap wine. Old sweat, and possibly blood. I could detect the musk of Hawke's mabari, and it was actually a good thing. The honest smell of a dog, while heavy, was better than the reek that seemed to come from the back room. Through it all, the bread meandered. It was a war, and the side of good seemed to be losing.

And so I stood there, not necessarily put off by the reek, but unsure of what to do next. I wasn't used to someone cooking a meal in front of me. Given the choice, I would be tucked into my makeshift home. Hungry, perhaps, but at least I would have my solitude to enjoy.

While I dithered, Hawke had moved on to the vegetables, before dumping the whole lot of prepared ingredients into the water, which was already boiling merrily. A handful of unidentifiable herbs followed. "Fenris," she said, her back to me, "Do you plan on just standing there the whole time? Come take a seat."

Refusing would be rude, I told myself. Complying is not admission of inferiority.

I sat.

My eyes flicked between mother and daughter. There was silence at the table, Leandra toying with her mug and Hawke steepling her fingers on the tabletop. A tension existed here, one that wasn't there before Hawke had come home. It was evident in the way that neither woman would look at the other. They even seemed to avoid addressing each other, instead speaking in my direction with strained tones, or making statements into the air that were worded so ambiguously that it could be directed at anyone. Each time a conversation was ventured, it was followed by a flat, oppressive lull.

It made me feel awkward on a new level that I was not used to experiencing.

The shutters banged against the sill.

A strange urge filled me. It made me cast about my mind for something to say. Anything. The silence needed to be broken, and for some reason I felt compelled to do so. I'd never bothered with this before – people and their conversations were never something I had to worry about as a slave and afterward, I had spent most of my time either alone or in the company of people with less-than-honorable tongues. My hands flexed in my lap and I shifted in my chair. It took a conscious effort to straighten my spine. When I felt my internal preparations were complete, I found a neutral point to stare at – an out-of-place tuft of hair that stuck out over her ear – to look at. "How was the Wounded Coast?"

"Grey and wet." Came her clipped reply. She looked a bit relieved, though, and continued. "We went there on a request from the Viscount. Well, it was via his seneschal, but same difference."

I nodded. "Confidential?"

"Well…" she glanced at her mother. Leandra stared hard at her cup. "A little."

"Pity." I said, "I find my curiosity piqued."

Hawke offered a smile. "Curiosity killed the cat, you know."

I stiffened.

"_You really want to know?" Hadriana said with a fiendish smile. The smile masked the cold, detached cruelty beneath._

"_I-I'm sorry, Mistress. Please, mercy-" the shopkeeper groveled. Pathetic, perhaps, but the proper course of action._

_Hadriana gestured. I didn't see what she did, but suddenly the shopkeeper's eyes rolled up in his head, blood dribbling down his chin. Ahead of her, Denarius didn't even blink._

"_That's where curiosity gets you, worm," Hadriana hissed._

I blinked. "Ah. Um. Please. Do not let me…" I trailed off.

The silence, when it inevitably took over again, did not disturb me so much after that. Leandra and Hawke remained overtly uncomfortable, but I'd withdrawn. And presently, the aroma of stew and fresh bread muscled in and made my mouth water.

The ice seemed set to be broken. At least, until the back room door opened and the uncle stumbled out. Without missing a beat, Hawke turned and shoved a bowl and a hunk of cooling bread at the bleary-eyed man. "Here. Go back to bed."

Gamlen's mouth worked for a moment. His eyes roved the room and I could almost hear him counting the heads in the room. He started at Leandra, then Hawke, and then his eyes settled on me. His brows furrowed. "Andraste's flaming petticoats, girl, what the bleeding fade is a knife-ears doing in my home?"

Leandra stiffened. "Gamlen!"

Anger flashed behind Hawke's eyes. The lines of her back were rigid with offense. "Uncle," she began in a measured, careful tone. "Please just take your food and eat. This elf is a friend. I'll not hear you disparage him."

"'m still the master of my home," Gamlen muttered, shoving into a chair directly across from me. "Blasted thing'll probably steal us blind."

Hawke caught by eye and shook her head apologetically. "We have nothing to steal, Uncle."

Red eyes glared at me. He dipped his hand into the bowl and scooped the thick stew into his mouth, never wavering. I gazed back, impassively. "I am not interested in your home." I stated.

"Then why're you here? 'Jes wanna eat my food, huh?"

A bowl slid in front of me and I jumped in surprise. A generous hunk of bread soon joined it. "Thank you, Hawke," I said. Then, to the hungover man, "Your sister is simply allowing me a meal for my assistance this afternoon at the market. The generosity of your family does you credit."

He blinked as my words made the arduous journey from my lips to the receptors of his mind. Seconds passed, in which Hawke served her mother, and took a seat to my right. Wrinkles formed on the man's forehead as he squinted at me. "Yeah." He mumbled. "You better not take anything though. I'll be counting the valuables after you leave."

I glanced down at the bowl. It sat in front of me, no spoon or fork in which to spear the chunks of meat and vegetables. It had an appetizing aroma, though. Most times I had seen stews or soups, they were eaten by magisters with fine dining utensils. In the years I had been on the run, my diet had consisted of easily carried items like fruits and hard tack. Slaves and commoners at with much the same methods – their hands. "I'll make certain I leave your silver where it's hidden," I said dryly. Hawke snorted.

The meal progressed as expected. That is to say, tense and loaded with undirected anger on the parts of the Hawke/Amell family.

* * *

The storm raged beyond the door. Water seeped in through the cracks between the door and the jamb, dripped from the half-rotten thatch and daub that comprised the roof, and leaked through unchinked areas on the walls. The rumble of thunder was both distant and near, muffled as it was by clouds and walls.

The table had long been cleared away and it was only through a force of will that kept me from prowling the length of the main room like a caged animal. Gamlen had dropped a few more laughable warnings and an invitation to gamble in my direction before stumbling off to his bed with a bottle of cheap whiskey.

Leandra yawned shortly after Gamlen retired. "Goodness, it has gotten late, hasn't it?"

I nodded. I knew a queue when I heard one. "I'll be on my way, then." I said with some form of relief. As much as I did not want to slog through the dregs of the streets outside, getting away from the last few hours of discomfort was a chance I was going to jump at.

"Huh-uh." Hawke said. "You won't make it past the next street. It always washes out during these storms."

"We can't just let you try to walk home in this weather, dear," her mother said, concern lining her face. "I'm sure we have spare linens in here somewhere."

I adjusted the straps on one of my gauntlets to hide my disquiet. "I cannot impose. I have dealt with worse than just a little weather. A walk through the city is hardly going to spell my doom." I edged toward the door.

"Bullshit," Hawke said, making Leandra blanch. "If you leave, mother will make me come with you because she will feel guilty for keeping you. And if I do that, then I get to tag along for the two hour walk to hightown, then turn around and tramp all the way back here by myself. Mother will have a fit. Which means that either you will be staying here until the morning, or you'll be putting me up at your place until the morning after we both get soaked in freezing rain. And mother will not put up with my being unaccompanied with a man overnight."

"But," I began, the memories of her overtaking my favorite chair for several weeks floating to the top of my mind. She stared at me, hard, as though she was trying to impart something on me through sheer will. And suddenly, I understood. "But… I'm an…elf." I finished lamely.

"It doesn't matter, dear," Leandra said with careful gentleness. "I'm sure you understand why."

I didn't, not really. Hawke could handle herself, and it wasn't as though I was going to attack her in any way. Surely they could both understand that.

Leandra was already digging through a chest on the side of the room. Hawke shook her head. "It'll be fine, Fenris. Denarius isn't going to show up on your doorstep tonight."


	10. Hounded

Note: Hello? Anyone out there?

I'm writing this one again.

Sorry for the long, long, loooong hiatus.

* * *

The Danger of Touch

By: Ambrel

"Hounded"

* * *

The storm raged through the night.

In the small hours of the morning, the rain lessened, then stopped altogether. I'd not slept much, if at all. My eyes were dry and there were the beginnings of a headache clawing at the space behind my temples.

The place in the main room that Hawke and her mother had set up for me to sleep in was still neat and orderly, a fact that did not escape Hawke's attention when she emerged from the chamber she shared with Leandra. I folded up the unused linens and stowed them away in the chest before Leandra could wake up and see that they hadn't been slept in. Hawke grabbed an apple from a battered basket near the fire and bit into it, watching me. She didn't speak.

I paced to the window and undid the latch. Outside, the mud-slime still slicked the ground but the air was clear in that certain way that only happens after a good storm. I took a deep breath of the fresh air. It did much to clear some of my headache.

Hawke appeared at the window beside me, crunching the last of the apple in her teeth. She pitched the core at the midden heap that lurked out on the street, seemingly for that very purpose. Her fingers drummed on the sill. There was a heaviness to the silence that I felt obligated to break, but I wasn't sure how. I turned and leaned against the open window, relishing the cool breeze on my back.

"Hawke," I began, then paused. I blew out a breath. "I wanted to apologize for – _venhedis!" _I yelped, reaching for the sword on my back, knowing it wasn't there.

The door to Hawke's room had opened. Instead of her mother, a mountain of fur, teeth, and muscle passed through. It was huge. The head was square and blocky, the chest like an aged barrel, and teeth that gleamed in spite of the banked smoldering ashes. The creature moved with the kind of grace that comes with being a predator. It zeroed in on me immediately, planting its paws to the hard dirt floor and inhaling deeply.

I froze.

_"It's only two nights, Little Wolf. If you manage to evade the dog-man's pup for two nights, I'll see to it you have a rest day afterward." A sharp smile creased the magister's face._

_The man beside him held the leash of a massive beast with intelligent eyes. It locked those eyes on me and inhaled deeply. The man mirrored Denarius's expression._

_The magister leaned back. "You have an hour's head start, Little Wolf. Prove that a dog cannot catch a wolf."_

_I ran._

"..ris!"

The thing's hackles had risen. It smelled me, smelled the sour scent of my shock.

"Fenris!" There was a touch on my arm and it was cold. Cold like fingers of ice. I turned my head and stared into Hawke's concerned face. "What happened? What's wrong?"

_"What's wrong?" came the taunting voice. "Afraid of a little bite, little man?"_

_The hound snuffled its nose to the ground. It had the scent, but was confused. Too many trails. But it was closing on the right one. I was as still as I could be, but I had to breath. The leaves that sheltered me rustled ever so slightly on the breeze._

_The hound looked up and grunted a low bark. Then it bunched its muscles and jumped._

I flinched from the pitched tone of her voice. Couldn't help it. My shoulders hit the wall and my elbow banged against the side of the window aperture as I moved. I ducked my head and drew in a quick, silent breath.

"Mother, get the dog back in the room. _Now._"

Leandra appeared and asked a question I couldn't hear or understand. The diminutive woman grabbed the beast by the scruff and hauled on it. I couldn't find the strength to tell her to run, to get away, to keep herself clear of those _things._ She was too small to match that beast, too-

_-the young elf boy was barely past his tenth year when the hound caught him. In a spray of blood the boy was gone, little more than a bloodied corpse before he hit the ground. The dog had sailed past me on a powerful leap that left a foul scent behind it, like something unwashed._

_It was brutal, but it gave me my chance. I slipped away._

"..the matter with you?" Hawke was asking. She shook my arm.

"Nothing." I said. My voice was hoarse, as if I'd just been running. "Nothing. I have to go."

"But-"

I turned, fumbling for the door latch. My fingers kept slipping, then Hawke closed her hand over mine. I jerked my hand away as though stung.

She reached out with her other hand and lifted the latch. "At least let me walk you home."

I shook my head. The fear had begun to abate, only to be replaced by humiliation. The door was open and I grasped the frame, using it to pull myself out of their home.

* * *

Stupid.

I'd known the dog was there. For the love of Andraste, the smell of the hound had been one of the only things that made the small enclosed space less-than-nauseating. I'd known it was there.

_But you hadn't seen it awake. It had been asleep in the other room._

_It had been there the whole time._

The door gave me troubles even when I hauled on it with all my weight. It must have been the rain. After several minutes of wrestling I managed to get it to wedge shut enough that it wouldn't slip back open and cause a racket.

The house was comfortably cool, but I wanted heat. My arm still burned where Hawke had touched me and all I wanted was for the feeling of touch to go away.

My armor fell from my body as I scrabbled at the buckles. I left a trail from my chamber door to the fireplace, stopping only when I was wearing only the trousers I'd found to replace the ones I'd ruined.

The fire was dead. I poked at it, hoping to find a coal that still held some heat within, but it was for naught.

In my discarded belt pouch there was a flint. I retrieved it, and a dagger. My hands were shaking, but I managed to build a pyramid of tinder and struck the flint with the knife. It lit.

Another stick of furniture fed it.

The flint fell from my hands, followed by the knife. I sat back and stared at the fire. It grew. I fed it more wood. It grew again.

After a while, I stopped shuddering.

* * *

She showed up later that night. I heard her fight with the swollen door, then heard the measured rhythm of her feet on the stairs. There was only one set of footfalls. She'd come alone.

When she finally made it into my chamber, she sat down in 'her' chair, as though our nightly ritual had never been broken. I still sat on the floor beside the fire. The stone of the hearth was warm by that time, and I had a thin sheen of sweat on my skin.

But my arm and hand still felt cold.

I mumbled under my breath, clenching my fist.

Her voice was not hesitant, but it was quiet. "What?"

"I _hate _being touched." I muttered again.

She fell silent.

Another beat passed, then, "Would it help if I apologized?"

I shook my head. Then I lowered it. And then I sighed.

"It wasn't your fault." I said. "You didn't know."

More silence.

I chanced a look over my shoulder. The fire was bright enough that I could see a trickle of sweat over her brow, and the sparkle of firelight reflecting from her eyes. She was watching me with an intensity that brought unpleasant memories to bear again. I looked away, willing them to stay hidden below the surface. A prickling sensation up my spine prompted me to grab my discarded shirt and pull it on. When I looked back at her, she'd moved her gaze to the hearth. Her face was coloring in the heat.

I dragged myself to the bench and settle on it.

The night began to pass like they had so many times before. I was tired. My head ached for lack of rest. I made no pretense at caring for my few possessions this time. I just sat, stared at the fire, and tried to quell the shame that rose in me.

_Show weakness. Show how she doesn't need your help. She'll realize that you aren't worth helping, and that you're better off a slave. Just like everyone else who turned you in._

"I was going to apologize," she said suddenly, "And to thank you."

"For what?"

She looked down at her hands. "I wanted to apologize for getting upset at you. And then avoiding you. I didn't want to hear what you said. I didn't want to hear what anyone said. But you were right."

I frowned. Right about what? And what did I say?

She continued, her voice dropping gently. Sadly. "I _was _lying to Mother. About more than… More than that. The Deep Roads, I mean."

I knuckled my eyes and looked at her. "And?"

"I spoke with the viscount." She replied. "I got him to return the Amell household, name, and holdings to my family."

"In exchange for…?" I asked, putting voice to the question she expected to hear.

"In exchange for dragging his son home from his new best friends in the Qun."

I grunted in surprise. "That could not have been easy. The Qunari do not suffer adherents to leave."

She hitched a shoulder in a shrug. "He wasn't an adherent. At least, not yet. I took him home, he pouted, and the viscount gave me the deed to my family's home."

I nodded. "Then you will be set."

"Yes."

"Good," I began, but she interrupted me.

"I wanted to thank you, too." She said. "If it weren't for you pushing me, I probably would still be listening to Gamlen complain about my cooking."

"What is there he could possibly complain about?" I asked in surprise, before I could stop myself.

She chuckled. It was shortlived and sad sounding, but it was the most mirth I'd heard from her in a long time. "The fact that we spent money on food, mostly."

Silence reigned again, companionable and comfortable.

As the last light faded to darkness and the fire finally began to shrink, I said, "I suppose you will put down the sword, now that you have lands to administer?"

She looked at me in surprise. "I hadn't thought of that."

"You are a noble now, correct?" I said. "Surely there are responsibilities you must consider now. And you no longer need to scrounge for what you have."

_And I still owe you a debt._

_What could I possibly do to repay it, that you cannot have done with a wave of the hand?_


	11. Housecleaning

The Danger of Touch

By Ambrel

"Housecleaning"

* * *

"It's so big!"

For the third time in less than a quarter hour, I wanted to snap at the blood mage. She stared at the walls and peeling plaster with eyes wide as plates, then skipped across the wide open chamber that was the main room in the Amell manor.

Hawke walked into the room next, followed by the rest of the misfit brigade. No one looked especially comfortable, except for Varric. Everyone was dressed for manual labor. Even Isabela. Color me surprised.

I watched Hawke. She ambled around the chamber, touching a desk or trailing her hands over the mantle. Her expression was miles away and I could only guess where her thoughts were. Perhaps wondering what her sister would say? Or even her father?

The house was dirty, in that disrespectful, unkempt way that squatters had. I should know; I'm somewhat of an authority on that subject. The great rug that claimed most of the floor space stank of mildew and had suspicious stains. The plaster that was flaking from the walls created coarse piles of grime in random spots on the floor. While the stairs looked sturdy enough, there was an oily sheen that spoke of old violence across the boards.

Varric clapped his hands together once, positioning himself in the center of the room. "Well, Hawke," he said brightly, "What's the plan?"

Hawke startled and blinked her eyes a few times. After a moment she seemed to come back to herself. "I thought I told everyone. I want to make sure this place is ready to bring Mother into it. She doesn't need to see her ancestral home looking like a squatter's den."

The abomination snorted. "In that case, why's the Tevinter elf here?" he asked. "I understand the need for help to put the place to rights, but a squatter who lives in a broken building is the last person I'd ask."

I bristled. "And someone who lives in a sewer is such a better option," I muttered.

Hawke opened her mouth to say something, but Aveline interrupted her. "Boys. Settle."

The mage turned a frown on her and I looked away. Aveline continued. "We are here to clean the place out, not decorate the home. I'm sure that Hawke's mother will be more than willing to do that part, herself. But we need to provide the blank canvas." Here, she nudged a pile of unidentifiable debris with one foot. "Hawke did not ask us here for our fine artistic sensibilities."

"Speak for yourself." Varric retorted. He glanced at Hawke, then continued, "I'm going into the parlor to have a look around."

He separated from the group and went to the side door – the only door that still hung on two hinges. As if that were a signal, everyone in the room picked a direction. Isabela and Merrill swarmed up the stairs like they were racing while Anders stuck close to Hawke. Aveline caught my eye and motioned to a loose pile of masonry. "There's some heavy lifting that needs doing right here, Fenris," she said in that steady way of hers. "Care to help me move this mess?"

I nodded, and spent the next few minutes shifting stone from the fallen column to the wagon out front that had been settled for such a purpose. On the third or fourth trip inside, I heard Varric calling out for Hawke with excitement in his voice.

Hawke went through the parlor door, followed closely by Anders. Aveline stared after them with curiosity. She rolled her neck, then said, "Wonder what they're going on about."

"No idea." I replied. "It's not really my business, anyway." I stooped to gather another armload of rock and timber scraps.

She sighed and followed suit. "Why did I have to partner up with the one person who is content to mind his own business?"

* * *

Sebastian arrived late to help, citing chantry duties. By that time, most of the scattered debris had been moved from the main part of the home, but there was still the issues of the moldering carpets and moth eaten window coverings. He'd taken one look and decided that he would take them down to see if there was a way to repair them. "These are original to the home," he said, reaching out to caress the cloth. He pointed to the gold threading that was unraveling from a familiar coat of arms embroidered at the bottom. "I've a feeling that Lady Leandra used to play under these curtains as a wee babe."

I frowned. "Hawke's mother. She was loved."

"From what I know of it, yes." Sebastian said. "Even Gamlen was a treasured son, for all he squandered the legacy."

I blinked a few times. The air in there was dusty. "I've never really had a place that was safe. Nor a family. Those things, they seem important."

"They are."

"I wonder what it was that made Leandra leave it all behind."

Sebastian pulled a chair close to the window, then climbed it to get at the curtain hooks. "Everything has its price."

A tendril of distaste wound its way around my mind. I grimaced.

The chantry brother glanced at me, then blanched. "I am sorry. That came out badly."

"It's true. Everything has a price," I spat, more harsh than I intended. I spun on my heel and nearly bowled Hawke over. Her hands came up automatically to grip my shoulders as she caught her balance.

Just as instinctually, I grabbed her wrists and pushed them away before I knew what I was doing. My heart tried to climb up my throat and Hawke just look mildly confused. "Fenris. Are you alright?"

"I am fine." I said. To my credit, my voice did not shake.

She regarded me with an expression of curiosity. Finally, she shrugged. "Alright. I was coming to find you or Aveline."

"What for?"

"Come with me. I'll show you."

* * *

The bookshelf was massive.

"You want me to move that?" I asked. "Wasn't Anders in here?"

"How do you think it fell down in the first place, Broody?" Varric snickered. Anders shot him a glare.

Well, that was amusing. I settled a look at Hawke and cocked an eyebrow, and she cleared her throat. Her cheeks pinked up some, then she said, "Don't worry. Between the two of us, it shouldn't be too bad. We just need to stand it on end again.

Indeed, the heavy piece of furniture was facedown over a pile of abused books and parchments. It was solid, that shelf. The wood was a deep honey color and I could tell that it was lovingly carved, though I couldn't see the designs because of its current position. I dusted off my hands. "Very well. Let's get to it, then."

We took position at the top of the book case and counted to three before we heaved. Varric looked on with anticipation when the shelf began to move. It inched slowly until we'd gotten our end about knee height, and I held it steady while Hawke adjusted her grip to get better leverage. She heaved upward and we pushed the thing back into place. I shook out my hands. "How in Thedas did Anders knock that shelf over?" I wondered. It looked as immovable as any boulder, settled there against the wall.

Anders growled something from where he was crouched over an old writing desk, poking through dust and papers. Hawk gave me an indulgent smile. "He climbed it."

Varric poked Anders in the side. "Who'd have known you're that flexible, eh Blondie?"

"Plenty of people," the mage noted absently, thumbing through some tome or other.

An awkward silence descended, made all the worse when Anders didn't even come out of his brown study to notice it.

Hawke knelt down to snag a handful of papers. "Want to help me sort these, Fenris?"

"Er, how about I bring them to you, and you can do the sorting?" I asked. "If these are family documents, you should be the one to go through them, yes?"

I ignored her curious look. Finally, she nodded.

* * *

We were all covered in sweat and grime by the time it got too dark to see properly. Aveline took her leave first, as she had duty the next morning. Sebastian followed, and then Merril and Isabela, both of whom were inexplicably drunk.

Varric peeled a protesting Anders from the library before he left to start the nightly game at the Hanged Man. I made to follow them, but Hawke tapped my shoulder quickly before withdrawing her hand.

I turned. "Yes?"

"I was wondering if you could help me out one more time."

"With what? I'm fairly sure there aren't any more overturned book cases or fallen masonry."

"I need an alibi." Hawke shuffled her feet, then sighed. "Mother is going to wonder what I've been up to today and I don't want to tell her about the estate until it is ready to be moved into."

"And how can I help with that?" I asked. "Truth be told, she'd probably be happier with the thought of you spending the day in the chantry than gallivanting around with a vagrant."

"Don't be obtuse. All I need is someone to point at and say, "Look, mother! I was out on a job all day today. Don't ask any more questions, because I am a horrible liar and I will end up spilling everything to you and ruining the big surprise!"

I folded my arms. "So you need me to lie for you."

"Well. In so many words. Yes."

"You have awful taste in picking accomplices," I sighed. "I have it on good authority that I am also a horrible liar."

"Oh?"

"That's what Varric says."

We stepped out onto the front step and she locked the front door with a heavy iron key. She turned and handed it to me. "I also need you to keep a hold of this for me."

I weighed it in my hand, then leaned back against the wall by the door. "Allow me to answer the question you know I will ask. I need to hold onto this so that your mother doesn't find and recognize it, seeing as it used to be in her family?"

"Pretty much."

The key felt heavy. I looked at it, and barely noticed when my brow furrowed. Hawke's fingers hovered just out of my field of vision near my hair, making me start. She snapped her hands back quickly. She cleared her throat. "What's wrong?"

"I don't like –"

"Yes, yes. Sorry about that. I meant, why did you get all broody over the key all of a sudden?"

"Oh. That." I opened a pouch on my belt and stowed the key away. "I just can't help but wonder what made your mother leave her home." I gestured at the mansion. "It's not just because it's a big house, I mean. A house, a mansion, a shack – they're all just shelters. But a home. A home is that thing that has everyone who loves you. And safety. And purpose. I haven't had such a thing myself, but I have seen it before with other people."

Hawke gestured to me and we began to walk down the path to the road. "The way Mother tells it, she left it all for love."

I remained silent.

"That's not such a bad thing, is it? To risk everything for love and for happiness?"

"Love is often confused for lust," I said, choosing the words with care. "In my experience, lust is often the affliction suffered by people who claim love. It seems illogical to leave a place of safety because, well, because someone simply asks you to."

"You don't think she loved my father?" Hawke's voice was cold.

"That's not what I said," I replied. "But just as she loves you and…" I sighed. "It just seems cruel to sever the ties to one's home in order to be happy. I suppose I just don't understand."

We turned from the high town toward the lower quarters. The day was clear and through the towering buildings, the stars had begun to come to life in the purpling sky.

Hawke twitched a lock of hair from her face. "If she hadn't, I wouldn't be here."

"And the world would be a lesser place," I said before I could stop myself.

The only reaction to my impertinent remark was a slight stutter in her step, before she resumed her normal gait. "Oh yes. Because if it weren't for me, Varric would be stuck in a cavern underground and we wouldn't be breathlessly awaiting his sordid tales of our little party."

I chuckled, glad that the tension of my comment had bled away so quickly. "Ah, yes. One day, I think I might actually want to know what he has to say about our adventures."

"He gave me a copy of his stories. I can lend it to you, if you like."

I shook my head. She watched me, curious. After a moment, I fumbled out, "Ah, I prefer to listen to spoken stories. It… well, it draws me in better than…" I trailed off.

We walked in silence. The lights of the Hanged Man came into view, and she herded me toward her uncle's abode. "Perhaps sometime I'll just read them to you," she suggested nonchalantly.

My cheeks burned. Shame? Embarrassment? Yes to both. I didn't answer, and it was too dark for her to see my face. Luckily.

* * *

Author's note:

*POKE POKE POKE*

I'm alive! I'm back! I hope I finish this one because it needs finished!

Anybody out there? Should I keep going?

-Ambrel


	12. Honest Work

Author's Note:

Here's another entry for the story! In the reviews, I was asked for more conversation, and that just got my mind working on more conversation-ey things that may have happened behind the scenes. I find that I enjoy writing Sebastian as a steadying force in my stories and I'm going to start trying to explore Fenris's reactions to Hawke in juxtaposition of his ingrained behavior.

I am going to be replaying the game so I can actually get the timeline on this story more or less correct.

Also, I think I answered all the reviews that I could but if I didn't, please don't be mad. I'll try to do better next time.

* * *

The Danger of Touch

By Ambrel

"Honest Work"

* * *

Sebastian pushed the sweaty hair from his face.

He stretched his arms above his head with a groan, then turned to grin at me. "A day of honest labor is truly a reward all its own."

I leaned on my axe and regarded him curiously. "It's barely mid-morning."

"Aye, and already I feel loose and limber from the workup." He replied, reaching for another cord of wood and placing it on his block. "It is good to see you out of that cavern of a home, Fenris. I appreciate the help here. As will the needy who cannot provide their own firewood."

I nodded once and hefted the axe. It was long and heavy, weighted for chopping rather than combat. I exhaled on the downswing and the axe head bit into the block. The two halves of the wood flew to the side.

We worked in silence, the prince and I. His pile of wood grew faster than my own. I had the strength to do the work, of course, but lacked the experience. Also, firewood was not necessarily an imperative in my homeland.

"You know," Sebastian said suddenly, his breath bursting forth with the impact of his axe, "if you like, I am sure the Chantry Mother has other tasks to occupy you when you are otherwise without purpose."

"What gives you the idea I need work?"

"Well, you did show up this morning and join in with my own chores with nary a word."

"Perhaps I was bored."

Another cord of wood flew apart under Sebastian's axe. He turned an all-too-knowing eye on me. "I don't think you are the type to get bored, Fenris. Restless, yes. Perhaps you find yourself at a loss for direction at times. But never bored."

"You presume much about my mental state." I retorted, but there was no heat in it. I wedged the axe into the block and stooped to gather the split logs. "Perhaps I was bored, took a walk, and then took pity on the one person out in the cold chopping wood."

"It's hardly cold, yet." He laughed. "Wait a few weeks, when the snows come in."

I curled my lip. "I'd really rather not."

Once he'd gathered an armload of wood we made our way to the cart that was hitched to the elderly donkey that Merrill had named Daisy. "For sure. Your home is drafty, is it not? It will not be fun when the ice starts coming down. Have you thought about what you will do during wintertide?"

I shrugged. "I've plenty to burn in the hearth to keep warm."

"Oh, dear," he sighed. "Fenris, I am afraid we may have to arrange an intervention for you. For your own sake. And ours."

I returned to the cut wood and loaded up again. "An intervention for what?"

"For someone who has spent so much time caring for yourself, you seem to only take stock of the necessities when they are imminent upon you. Winter in a place like Kirkwall is no joking thing, and I shudder to think what may happen to you."

I scratched my left ear, then almost fumbled the wood. I got it to the cart just in time, then cocked an eyebrow at the man. "So there is the concern for me. What about an intervention is for your sake?"

"Eh?"

"'I'm afraid we'll have to stage and intervention, for your sake and ours,'" I paraphrased. "What possible reason could my habits put anyone else in jeopardy?"

"Easy," he said, tumbling his load into the cart. "Hawke would be pissed."

"And I am to care what she thinks of my choices?" I said, my voice a bit flinty.

We walked to Daisy, who was chewing thoughtfully on the edges of a yellowing hedge. Sebastian took her lead and we began heading to the woodshed. "I don't mean it like that and you know it, Fenris. Hawke is like a… she's much like a chantry mother."

I snorted. "I don't see her taking the oaths anytime soon."

"And like a chantry mother, she cares for the ones she sees as her own. Her family."

I stiffened at the words. "I am neither her property nor part of her family."

He shook his head at me. "You don't get it. We all are. Part of her family, that is."

Something behind my forehead itched at that remark, but I didn't really want to chase that particular inkling down. "I fail to see how this means my choices affect you."

"Dealing with Hawke when she gets her back up is no mean feat."

"And so you bow to her whim, just to allay any anger?"

"No."

He pushed the shed door open and tied Daisy to the post outside it. I loaded up with wood. He regarded me for a moment, unmoving. "Sometimes I forget how you must look at us. At the world." He said softly. He sounded almost sad.

I took care to stack the wood neatly on the racks, giving myself some time to form a reply. The first one that came to my lips was angry and acidic. Nosey as he may be, the chantry brother did not deserve my ire for making an observation like that.

I turned. "How am I supposed to see the world? Or you?" I said, gesturing with one hand. "I've only two eyes with which to look."

* * *

The fire burned merrily again.

It was almost enough to banish the dark thoughts that skirted the edges of my mind. I was exhausted from the exertions of the day. In addition to chopping wood, we'd tackled some of the larger weeds in the garden and cleaned out a sizable tool shed. My muscles were sore in new ways. It seemed that the tasks of the mundane took as much of a toll as battle.

I sniffed. The sweat on my skin was no longer fresh, and there was no rest until I washed the odor away.

My bucket was out in the well, and I washed quickly. Sebastian was right. The weather was turning, and it wouldn't be long before I would have to figure out what to do with myself.

I looked about my room while I toweled off. The room itself was more than enough for my purposes. Perhaps I could simply take pains to proof it against the wind and cold.

* * *

"And that's all you need to do!" Hawke said with a wide smile.

Hawke and Merrill clustered around the door that I was holding up. "You can let go of it now, Fenris," Hawke said. "It should be set on the hinge."

I let go of it cautiously. The door was solid oak and heavy, but it slid along its intended arc with only a quiet creak.

"Ooh, Hawke. It really looks like it weighs nothing at all now." Merrill said, grabbing the handle and pulling it back. It moved easily.

"As long as you balance it properly, even a heavy door will swing the right way." She said with a smile.

"How did you learn how to do that?" Merrill asked, "I mean, between being a soldier and running from darkspan, you somehow learned the skills needed to fix houses?"

"I did grow up on a farm, you know." She replied. "It's only natural that I learn a few helpful things over the course of growing up."

I stepped away and into the room beyond. "What room is this?" I asked. There was a bed there, with torn sheets and a rotten mattress. The sheets did not look salvageable. Over on a dense chest of drawers was what may have been a jewelry box, thought the lid was missing.

"The master room," Hawke said from right behind my shoulder.

"_The master's room." Came the voice. "Now."_

_My bowels turned to ice and I slowly turned. And there she was, pale face over blue and green robes. Her face was lurid in the torchlight. "Go now, little wolf, before I tell him you refused his order. He has another job for you."_

_I took in an unsteady breath, and she noticed. It made her smile when I was nervous. "Yes, mistress," I muttered, ducking my head._

"What was that?" Hawke asked, coming around to place herself in front of me. I blinked several times.

"Oh, er. Nothing." I said, not meeting her eyes.

Hawke eyed me for a moment more, then swung an arm out to encompass the room. I almost flinched at the sudden movement, but managed to hold it in. "This is the room of the lord and lady of the house." She said, "It would have been where my grandparents slept."

I glanced around. "It's in no fit state for use now," I managed through my dry throat.

"True enough. I want to clean it up and get it ready for Mother. I think it would be right for her to take this room, don't you think?"

I didn't know how to really respond to that. It had never been my place to assign quarters to people. When I didn't reply, she seemed to deflate a little.

The room was covered in debris. Mostly scraps of bedding or clothing, but something beneath the desk caught my eye. I ducked under and grabbed it, thankful for something to divert the topic. "What is this?"

"Hmm?" she took the cloth from my hands. "I haven't seen it before." It was a piece of cloth, covered in grey dust and old cobwebs. She shook it out gently, then smoothed it back from its crumpled folds.

Hawke brought the cloth to the desk and laid it out with care. I looked over her shoulder at it, and discovered that it was something done in cross stitch. The craftsmanship was very well done. I'd seen many works of art across many mediums in my time, and it was hard to capture the movement of wind across wildflowers in a simple charcoal sketch. Whoever had done this, had managed the effect with needle and thread.

Hawke traced a hand down one side of the piece, where vines of honeysuckle climbed a wooden trellis. The background depicted a sunrise and a cozy cottage with a path leading to the fore. Once her hand reached the ragged bottom of the scrap, she ran a finger over a series of intricate squiggles and loops that traversed the entire lower border. "Mother would love this," she whispered.

"Hm?" I asked. I stared hard at the squiggles. "It is very well done, but delicate. And filthy."

"It can be cleaned."

"Carefully," I said. "It could unravel if its not cared for just right."

"Fenris," Hawke said, grabbing up the cloth and spinning 'round on her heel. "I-"

I shuddered. She was too close. Her face was less than a foot from mine and her hands were up, holding the artwork. I stared at her hands.

Hawke stopped still. I think her breath caught, but I couldn't be sure. I could only stare at her hands, my body screaming at me to flee. All that held me still was a litany marching through my mind.

_Don't run. Running only makes them chase you._

"I," I started, but my throat was dry. I cleared it, and stepped backwards once. Deliberately. "I think maybe Sebastian can help with… with that." Was my voice pitched higher just now?

Something flashed across her face, but I couldn't see what. Her hands were still _right there, _and I couldn't look away from them. My blood thundered in my ears.

Slowly, she lowered them. As though broken from a trance I glanced at her face, then cast my eyes back to the floor in reflex. I stepped back again, once, then twice more. "I'll go find him." I muttered.

I left the room as Merrill passed me.

"Oh, Hawke. Look at the pretty shade of red your face is. I was going to build up the fire in the fireplace but if you're too warm we can…"

My steps were measured and steady, in complete contrast to my shaken state. I could hear each breath funnel through my nose, then exit my mouth.

This shame. It ate at me.

_Escape slowly. Running only gets their interest up._

Pathetic.

* * *

Reviews are love! I get so many ideas from reading your comments. Was this chapter too fluffy? I don't do a lot of fluff, so I don't know if it was over the top.


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